


A Night Without Stars

by flowersheep



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 57,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersheep/pseuds/flowersheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time of peace prosperity in Camelot is interrupted when Prince Consort Merlin falls suddenly ill. Discovering that it is the result of someone poisoning the ley lines, Arthur embarks on a quest into the far north in the hope of healing the damage before it’s too late. Meanwhile, other dangers loom on the horizon. War approaches and Merlin isn’t so sure Camelot will be able to withstand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's certainly been an experience. Thanks to the mods at After Camlann for hosting this amazing fest. And thanks to my beta for giving me a hand in trying to kick this thing into shape.
> 
> Edit: Now with art! Thanks to texasfandoodler and dylogger for coming to my rescue at the last minute with some _amazing_ art!
> 
>  
> 
> [This awesome amazing map](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264) was used extensively in figuring out how things all fit together.

Night had almost fallen by the time a messenger entered the almost deserted throne room to inform Lot that the seer he’d summoned had arrived. Courtiers and servants and guards had all been dismissed long ago. All that remained were a handful of highly trusted knights, standing at solemn attention, and Lot himself, lounging on his throne as he waited. At the messenger’s arrival he straightened, hiding his irritation behind a mask of imperious calm. He’d searched a long time for the answer to his problem and did not appreciate being kept waiting now. The seer entered alone, pushing her hood from her head. She stopped a respectable distance from the throne and offered a small curtsy.

“You’re late,” Lot said.

“The time of my arrival matters little,” the seer said.

“It matters to me.”

“On what matter do you seek council from the Order of the Moon?” the seer asked, as if Lot hadn’t spoken. She didn’t even have the decency to use any sort of title. If he didn’t need her he would cut off her head himself that instant.

“One for which I will require your absolute discretion,” Lot said.

“Indiscretion would go against the vows of my order,” the seer assured him. Lot couldn’t say he trusted her, but his needs outweighed his caution. He couldn’t move forward without the information he sought.

“I seek Camelot’s throne,” Lot said bluntly. “It should have been mine long ago, if not for Uther Pendragon stealing it right out from under my father’s nose. Arthur Pendragon deserves it even less. He has done nothing to earn it, _nothing_. However, invading Camelot is no easy task.”

“You refer to Emrys,” the seer said. It may have been his imagination, but Lot thought he could detect a hint of disapproval in her tone.

“His role in the defeat of Morgana Pendragon at Camlann is already legendary,” Lot said.

“So you seek to destroy him,” guessed the seer.

“Not destroy,” Lot corrected. “Weaken. I need him out of the way so he cannot interfere with my plans.” Lot had met the fabled warlock only once before, during a political visit from King Arthur. It had been more than enough to pique his interest. And he was yet another thing that King Arthur had done nothing to deserve. It wasn’t fair and Lot intended to correct that when he took Camelot for his own.

“There isn’t much that can truly harm Emrys,” the seer said. “He is no mere mortal. He is the son of the earth, the sea, and the sky. He is magic itself.”

Lot waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Yes, yes, he’s powerful. I am aware. Now how do I weaken him?”

The seer hesitated. “First, a warning,” she finally said. “If you continue down this path you will bring about the destruction of the world as we know it. When Emrys dies, the earth will die with him.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant. I said nothing about killing him, did I?”

“You are meddling with powers beyond your comprehension,” the seer continued. “And I do not think you will like the results.”

“That is for me to decide. Now, tell me, how do I weaken him?”

The seer pinned him with a disappointed look, but nevertheless, finally gave him the information he wanted. “There is a ritual that will serve your purpose. On a moonless night, call upon the darkest of magic and unleash it into a ley line. It will spread like a poison, affecting all those who possess magic.”

“And Emrys?” Lot asked.

“As the dark magic poisons the ley lines, Emrys will become weak.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

That sounded perfect. “Where would I obtain this dark magic? And where would I find a ley line best suited for this ritual?”

“I have never desired knowledge of this sort, and therefore it is knowledge I do not possess. You will have to seek these answers elsewhere.”

Inconvenient, but doable. “Very well, you may go.” The seer didn’t leave. Lot frowned. “I said, you may go.”

“I really wish you would reconsider this course of action,” the seer said.

“If you’re so against me doing this then you shouldn’t have come,” Lot said.

“All members of my order take a vow of neutrality, bound by magic, to give council indiscriminately,” she said. “Regardless of our personal feelings on the matter. Part of this vow is to give advice and warning in equal measure, whether you ask for it or not. Every action has a consequence, for better or for worse.”

“You are beginning to irritate me,” Lot snapped. “Get out!” The seer shook her head, displeasure clear in her expression. She turned without bothering to curtsy or even so much as incline her head, pulling her hood up as she went. When the doors of the throne room had shut behind her Lot beckoned one of his knights forward.

“See to it that she does not have the chance to break her silence,” he ordered.

The knight bowed. “Of course, sire.”

-

Merlin woke to find the room still dark. For a moment he just lay there, blinking sleep from his eyes and wondering what had woken him before the sun had even risen, until he rolled over and saw the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cold when he patted them. A moment later he spotted movement by the window. Arthur was standing there in nothing but a pair of soft brown breeches, staring out through a gap in the heavy curtains. Merlin deliberated the pros and cons of just going back to sleep.

“Arthur.” The king didn’t move and Merlin would’ve rolled his eyes if it weren’t the middle of the night and he weren’t so tired. “ _Arthur_.” This time, Arthur glanced over his shoulder.

“Go back to sleep Merlin,” he said, turning back the window.

“I will if you come join me.” When Arthur still didn’t move, Merlin sighed and scooted over to the edge of the bed, shuddering when his bare feet touched the cold flagstone. He padded softly over to Arthur and wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist. Chin resting on a broad shoulder he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Who says anything’s wrong?” Arthur tried. Merlin snorted.

“Well, let’s see. It’s the middle of the night and instead of sleeping, you’re staring out the window like you think the stars will suddenly start talking and provide you with the answers to all your problems. So, I ask again, what’s wrong?” Merlin waited, but Arthur didn’t seem inclined to answer. “Something is troubling you. You can either tell me what it is or come back to bed.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to snort. “That’s hardly a threat.”

“Don’t be a prat. What’s troubling you so much as to keep you from sleep?”

Arthur sighed, shifting his weight. One hand come up to rest on Merlin’s arm. “There’s a rumor that King Lot has consulted with a seer.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“A few days?” Merlin decided he was too tired to get into why Arthur hadn’t thought this fact worth sharing with him sooner. It seemed to be happening more and more lately. “Why would Lot want to consult with a seer?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

And that was the heart of the problem. Arthur didn’t know. Of all the kingdoms that Arthur had extended the hand of friendship too since beginning his reign, Lot was the only one to reject it. Whatever grudge he held against the Pendragons was strong. Whether or not it was strong enough to lead to war was yet to be seen, but as of now they had no idea what’s Lot’s intentions were towards Camelot and Arthur hated it.

“Think about it in the morning,” Merlin said and started pulling Arthur back towards the bed. Arthur resisted for only a moment before following, letting Merlin tuck them both back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around Merlin. “Sleep now,” Merlin murmured, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder before resting his head there and closing his eyes, fully intending to go back to sleep. He was just drifting off when Arthur spoke, yanking him back from the edge of sleep.

“I just can’t imagine what Lot would want with a seer,” he said.

“Won’t figure it out in the middle of the night,” Merlin mumbled. “Go to sleep.” He felt lips press against his hair.

“You’re right,” Arthur whispered.

-

Arthur tried not to worry too much about the rumor concerning Lot and a seer. He got up, had his breakfast, trained with his knights, attended council, heard petitions. All the while though it lurked at the back of his mind. Lot had yet to make any overtly hostile moves towards Camelot, but neither had he been receptive to any of Arthur’s attempts to form a truce. It didn’t matter how many messages or political envoys Arthur sent to Essetir. He had even personally paid a visit there himself a few weeks after his marriage to Merlin. For two weeks Arthur had done everything in his power to come to an understanding, but Lot had had little interest in discussing a treaty. In fact, the only thing he _had_ seemed interested in was Merlin.

“You’re still thinking about Lot, aren’t you?”

Arthur looked up from the paperwork scattered over his desk and over towards the bed. Merlin was watching him over the edge of the latest book about herbs to come into Gaius’s possession. Though he was no official court physician Merlin still took the title Gaius had bestowed on him seriously. Arthur supposed it was no different than how he still trained with his knights, even though such duties were usually left to the first knight so that the king could attend to other business.

“What could he want with a seer Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“Well, being as I do not possess the ability to read the thoughts of others I can only guess at what goes on in Lot’s mind,” Merlin said, marking his place in the book and setting it aside. “Knowing that he’s consulted with a seer doesn’t really tell us anything. Unless there’s new information you’ve neglected to share with me?”

There was something in the tone of those words that Arthur had been noticing a lot more recently, but he wasn’t of a mind to consider it right now. “No new information,” he said regretfully.

“In that case, I think you should come to bed. Surely you don’t want to spend your entire evening bent over paperwork.”

“Paperwork is an important part of running the kingdom,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. And it will still be there in the morning. However your husband is here right now, waiting for you to join him in bed so that he might feel a bit less neglected.” Merlin said it teasingly, but Arthur still felt a twinge of guilt. He had been neglecting Merlin as of late. It was just that there was so much to do. He looked at the paperwork spread out over his desk. Merlin was right. It would still be there tomorrow when Arthur got up. So he set it aside and went to join Merlin under the sheets. As he slid into bed Arthur noted with a raised eyebrow that Merlin had done away with his trousers at some point.

“I’m surprised your tunic isn’t already gone as well,” the king commented.

“I was getting to it. Herbs can be very fascinating.”

A laugh bubbled up in Arthur’s chest, spilling from his lips. It grew into a full bellied affair that left him lying helpless on the sheets.

“There’s my husband,” Merlin said, leaning over to smile fondly down at him. He kissed him. “Lately I’ve been starting to suspect that you’d been replaced with some dull, boring creature that doesn’t even know how to smile. Good to know I was wrong.” Arthur pressed his hand to Merlin’s cheek.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

“There’s this thing called delegation.”

Arthur glanced towards his desk. “I’m the king, Merlin. Camelot is my responsibility.”

Merlin sighed and Arthur could see that he was considering arguing. Instead he just said, “All this worry isn’t good for you.”

“You may be right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Well, not _always_.”

“Yes, _always_.”

Instead of continuing the back and forth Arthur reached over and tugged at Merlin’s tunic until Merlin obliged his silent request and drew it up over his head, tossing it somewhere to be picked up later. Arthur made himself comfortable so he could enjoy the sight of his husband sitting naked in their bed. Merlin let him for a moment before tiring of it and straddling him.

“So, how do you intend to make it up to me for being such a wretchedly neglectful husband as of late?” Merlin asked. Arthur rested his hands on Merlin’s hips and leaned up until his lips were bare centimeters from Merlin’s.

“I may have something in mind,” he said, and rolled them over so that Merlin was pinned beneath him. Gods, but Arthur hadn’t realized how much he had missed this. His days were so filled as of late that many evenings he was too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed and hold Merlin close before drifting off to sleep. As he rediscovered Merlin’s body and the way it moved with his own, he tried to pinpoint when it was that the blissful joy of their new marriage had faded, but he couldn’t. He would do better, he vowed. Or at least, he would try. The kingdom couldn’t run itself, after all.

-

Merlin woke to late morning sun and an empty bed. He frowned, disappointed, but resigned. After all, this wasn’t the first time Arthur had left him to sleep in. He’d thought they’d reached something of an understanding the previous night after their brief conversation, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“George,” he called, sitting up. The servant appeared at the foot of the bed. Merlin hadn’t heard him or seen him anywhere in the room, but he tended to be around. Sometimes Merlin suspected that Arthur had given George strict orders to hover around him.

“Breakfast, sire?” George guessed.

“If you please,” Merlin said. “And I don’t suppose you know where my husband wandered off to?”

“The training fields I believe, sire.”

Of course. Merlin flopped back against the pillows as George slipped out of the room. He’d worked himself into a sulk by the time the servant returned bearing a large tray overflowing with food.

“I can’t possibly eat all of that,” Merlin complained, glaring at the abundance of fruits and meats and cheeses and bread. George, ever a tactful servant and one who was well aware of the state of his master’s household, remained silent. No doubt he knew Merlin’s sharp tone had nothing to do with him and the overabundance of food and everything to do with the king. For all that George was stiff and formal and a bit too proper, he was also loyal and in possession of a good deal of tact. As Merlin ate, he quietly went about straightening the room, making the bed, putting the dirty clothes in the basket. He stopped short of laying out something for Merlin to wear when he glanced over at the table and saw Merlin’s glare.

By the time Arthur returned, sweaty and dirty and satisfied, the sulk had passed. Merlin watched George help Arthur out of his armor with a sense of disappointment that the logical part of his mind told him was out of place. Most people would be grateful if their spouse left them to sleep in. Except that Arthur always left him to sleep in. While he was greeting foreign dignitaries, giving grand speeches, training with his knights, hearing the needs of his people, or whatever was on the schedule for that day, Merlin was asleep. And he didn’t understand why. Hadn’t he proved over and over again that he was capable of supporting Arthur in his rule? He’d told Arthur of all the things he had done in secret, using his magic to defend Camelot from her foes. Or had that only served to do the opposite? Had the tales of Merlin’s exploits during his years as a servant only proved to Arthur that no matter how much he loved him, Merlin couldn’t handle the responsibility?

Arthur’s satisfied smile dropped from his face when he turned to Merlin. “What’s wrong?” he asked. George, bless him, immediately swooped in to take the tray still laden with all the food Merlin couldn’t eat and left.

“I wish you’d woken me,” Merlin said.

“What for? All I did was train all morning. What would you have done, sat there and watched?”

“I used to,” Merlin reminded him. “I just didn’t expect to wake up alone.” Arthur opened his mouth and closed it a second later, rethinking whatever he’d been about to say. His gaze was evaluating as he looked Merlin over. Merlin wondered what he saw.

“I will keep that in mind next time,” Arthur said. Merlin didn’t bother responding. The tense silence that fell over them lasted through Arthur’s bath. Merlin sat at the table the entire time, staring unseeingly at the pages of a book.

“The council is meeting soon,” Arthur said. Merlin looked up and found his husband dressed again, standing a few feet away, expression carefully hidden.

“Is it,” Merlin said. He hadn’t known.

A bit of Arthur’s uncertainty slipped through his mask. He cleared his throat. “You haven’t been in a while. Perhaps you would like to attend today?”

Merlin tried to remember the last time he’d attended a council meeting. It must have been months ago. For a while after they’d first married he’d attended every session. Actually sitting at the round table as an equal had been very different from standing off to the side where he was ignored and Merlin had done far more observing than contributing for the first few sessions. His initial contributions were small, but he’d grown bolder as time went on. Then it had all gone wrong. Merlin didn’t even remember what they’d been discussing. He only remembered the burning humiliation he’d felt when an older councilor had cut him off and chided him for deigning to speak up on a matter for which a peasant couldn’t possibly have any understanding. The incident had cut deep, deeper than Merlin had expected it to. Arthur’s reprimand of the councilor in question had done nothing to dispel his mortification. From there Merlin’s participation in council had declined until he’d stopped attending altogether. Nobody seemed to miss him. Other than the rare occasion when Arthur brought it up, no one said anything, at least not where he could hear it.

“Maybe next time,” Merlin said quietly. It was his usual answer. _Maybe next time_. He could never tell if the expression that passed over Arthur’s face after those words was disappointment or relief. Maybe one of these days he should ask.

“Are you sure?” Arthur pressed, which was unusual. He never pressed the issue. Caught off guard, Merlin found himself considering it. He imagined himself walking into the council chambers side by side with Arthur, taking his seat at the round table, hearing the warm greetings of his friends. Seeing the disdainful disapproval of those who didn’t like him and didn’t think he deserved to be there. No, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that.

“I’m sure.”

Arthur studied him. After a moment, he knelt beside the chair and gently took Merlin’s hands. “Is everything alright?” Arthur asked and Merlin sighed because if he wasn’t in the mood to deal with crotchety old councilmembers then he definitely wasn’t in the mood to open up the horrendous jar of worms that their marriage seemed to be turning into.

“Everything’s fine,” Merlin said. “Same as usual. Shouldn’t you be heading to council right now?” Even as he spoke he tightened his grip on Arthur’s hands, wanting him to stay. Arthur looked at their joined hands thoughtfully before coming to a decision.

“How about we go for a ride after council?” Arthur suggested, looking back up at him.

“I like the sound of that,” Merlin replied, the beginnings of a smile appearing for the first time that day. “After council and not a moment later.” He said it sternly, all too aware of the many other times Arthur had promised things like afternoon rides and found things around the castle to busy himself with instead, telling Merlin that, “ _It just wasn’t a good day for it. We’ll go some other time, I promise._ ”

“Assuming there’s nothing important that needs seeing to,” Arthur amended.

Merlin resisted the urge to smack him. “Seeing to your husband isn’t important?”

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hands, bending down briefly to kiss them. “Of course it is,” he said. “But so is the kingdom.” He stood, pausing to press a brief kiss to Merlin’s cheek before leaving for council. Merlin sighed and slumped in his seat. They would go for a ride this afternoon if it was the last thing he did.

-

He wasn’t sure why, but Arthur had been particularly aware of Merlin’s vacant seat at the round table that day. The last time Merlin had filled his chair had been weeks ago. Or was it months? Months, Arthur thought. Things _did_ seem to run more smoothly without some of the council’s persistence in opposing Merlin at every turn, no matter what the topic or how sound Merlin’s advice on it. Immediately Arthur felt guilty for thinking that. The only reason those men were even still on the council had to do with political reasons and they knew it. Merlin had been invited to the round table because Arthur wanted him there, because he deserved to be there. Only, Arthur had let him be chased away and now he wasn’t sure how to bring him back. He didn’t want to push Merlin to do something he wasn’t comfortable with.

Arthur dismissed council as soon as possible. His mood, already not the greatest after his earlier conversation with Merlin, had only dropped as time went on and the one thing he’d hoped to hear was never said: Answers about Lot and the seer he’d consulted with. There had been something about how she was a member of some sort of order that took a vow of neutrality, meaning they gave advice and used their Sight for anyone who asked. That told him nothing about why Lot had sought them out.

Arthur paused along a corridor and looked out the window, noting that it was clear and sunny and warm. An excellent day for a ride. Except that Arthur had remembered halfway through council that there was still a large pile of paperwork sitting on his desk, paperwork he hadn’t finished the previous night as intended because Merlin had interrupted him. That paperwork really did need to be finished.

His chambers were empty when Arthur reached them. He spared a moment to wonder where Merlin was before making a beeline for his desk and pulling the first sheet of paper towards him. Time slipped away from him. He was only vaguely aware of the door opening and assumed it must be George. Until it was slammed shut hard enough for the bang to echo and Arthur looked up to find his husband glaring at him.

“Really, Arthur?” Merlin demanded. Underneath the irritation was resignation, like Merlin had expected to find Arthur doing more work but had hoped he wouldn’t.

“This is important,” Arthur said.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Merlin said. “But someone else can do it.”

“I am the king, Merlin-”

“Believe it or not, I am aware of that. I looked at all of that earlier today and none of it requires you personal attention for anything more than a signature.”

“I need to know what I’m signing.”

“Gwen would be perfectly happy to look them over in depth and answer any questions you have when she presents them to you for signing.”

“I haven’t asked Gwen to do this.” Arthur turned his attention back to the paperwork. “These really do need to be done, Merlin, so I’m sorry, but I won’t have time to accompany you-”

“No,” Merlin said. His eyes flashed gold and everything on Arthur’s desk vanished. The king frowned.

“Merlin, what did you do? Where did you put it? Bring it back.”

“No,” Merlin repeated. “You said we would go for a ride after council.”

“I said we would if there was nothing important to see to,” Arthur corrected, gritting his teeth against the anger. He didn’t want to be angry with Merlin. They had enough arguments as it was these days.

“There isn’t anything important to see to,” Merlin protested. He sighed, his anger smoothing out into something that looked too much like sadness for Arthur’s liking. “Please Arthur? It’s only for an afternoon.” He came closer and took Arthur’s hands, eyes beseeching. “I miss spending time with you.” Arthur recalled the promise he’d made last night, to try and be more attentive to their relationship.

“Alright, we’ll go for a ride.” The smile that broke out over Merlin’s face was worth putting off the paperwork for a time, Arthur decided. He’d missed that smile.

-

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something in the air. Camelot was well into summer and the clearing they’d gone to was full of wildflowers. The cool water of the stream running beside it was pleasant on his bare feet, as was the feeling of Arthur’s fingers in his hair, combing through the strands as Merlin closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. A beautiful day, perfect for an afternoon of leisure in the woods. Yet Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. It was faint, no more than a tickle, but it was persistent. Merlin couldn’t think of a reason for it, even when he stretched his magic out as far as it would go, searching for any disturbance. There was nothing. For a while he lost himself in the feel of the earth, sinking into her embrace, brushing his magic against the roots of trees and the wildlife, until the touch of Arthur’s hand on his cheek pulled him back. Arthur was smiling down at him where his head rested in the king’s lap.

“What are you thinking about?”

Merlin curled his fingers around Arthur’s hand. “Nothing, really.” After a moment, “I wish we spent more time like this.”

“So do I,” Arthur admitted.

“So why don’t we?”

“Because-”

“You have a lot of duties and responsibilities, I know. Have you ever considered that you take on too much though? What’s the point of even having advisors and a council if you don’t let them do anything? We would have much more time for ourselves and you would be much less stressed if you let them help you.” _If you let_ me _help you_ , he didn’t say. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried offering his help before, but Arthur tended to just brush him off and tell him he didn’t need to worry about it. It was always said kindly and Merlin didn’t think the words were intended to hurt him. Except that Merlin had been given to understand that Arthur wanted his marriage to be full of love and support and Merlin seemed to fall short on the latter.

“I am the king, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Camelot is mine to care for and protect.” Merlin let it drop. He didn’t want to taint one of their rare afternoons together with an argument.

“I think Gwen and Leon have a thing going on,” Merlin said instead. Arthur glanced over his shoulder to where Leon was standing as part of their accompanying guard that day.

“Leon and Gwen?” Arthur repeated, sounding skeptical. “I would hardly think Leon is Gwen’s type.”

“Noble, loyal, knight of Camelot,” Merlin listed off. “He sounds exactly like her type. And in any case, whatever argument you want to make against it is invalid because I’ve seen him bring her flowers far too many times for it to be anything but courting.”

“Perhaps he just likes giving her flowers,” Arthur suggested, though it was clear by his tone that he didn’t believe his own words.

“Perhaps,” Merlin allowed. “But when I was talking to Gwen a few days ago I saw a poem on her table written in Leon’s hand.”

“I can’t imagine Leon courting anyone,” Arthur admitted.

“I can. He’s quite charming.”

“Oh really?” Arthur poked him in the side. “And what about me? Am I charming?” Merlin sat up, grinning.

“On occasion,” he said. “Very, very rare occasion.” Before Arthur could complain, Merlin leaned in and kissed him. They passed the rest of the afternoon in the clearing, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves for the first time in what felt like ages.

They still had these moments sometimes, moments reminiscent of the early days of their courtship, back when Arthur would bring him flowers and stutter his way through complements because he could never manage to find the suave charming king everyone else knew when it came to the people he truly cared for. But it wasn’t the same. It felt like their marriage was dying, like it was a living thing that was slowly beginning to waste away as they drifted further and further apart, the chasm growing ever wider. Merlin could vacillate wildly between how he felt about it. Sometimes he blamed Arthur for the way he’d seemed to suddenly withdraw after the first few weeks of their marriage, not even trying to press Merlin into doing anything relating to his position as royal consort. And sometimes he blamed himself. He’d underestimated how capable he was of handling his change in station. He should’ve learned more about it before blindly accepting Arthur’s proposal, too caught up in love to realize that there was nothing simple about marrying a king. They didn’t hate each other, but Merlin feared it would one day come to that. There was some resentment there that had the potential to grow and fester. Merlin didn’t want it to, but he couldn’t figure out how to stop it.

None of this was helped by the fact that Merlin didn’t even get to see much of his husband these days. He’d thought he’d gotten it through Arthur’s head that he couldn’t rule the kingdom alone. Support was an invaluable resource that Uther had rarely taken advantage of. Merlin didn’t think Arthur’s reasons were the same as his father’s, but the end result was still the same. In a way it was nice. For a while. Merlin’s free time was spent on expanding his knowledge in both medicine and magic, especially the areas where they overlapped. And that would have all been well and good, were he still Gaius’s apprentice. He wasn’t Gaius’s apprentice though. He was Arthur’s consort and if the whispers he heard around court were any indication, a consort should not have all the free time in the world to indulge in so much study. Merlin didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing though and every time he asked Arthur just brushed him aside. Maybe someone else would be content to bask in endless free time and riches, but Merlin couldn’t stand it. Despite how much he’d pestered Arthur for a day off back when he was a servant, he’d never actually thought about what he’d do with it. Idle had never been a word in his vocabulary, not growing up in a farming village like Ealdor. There was always something to do, more so since it had just been him and his mother.

As afternoon began to fade into evening Merlin found he didn’t want to return to Camelot, reluctant to give up the version of his husband who laughed and smiled and was always finding excuses to touch Merlin in some way. This was the Arthur that Merlin had married almost a year ago and the one who was slowly slipping away from him, struggling to stay afloat under the responsibilities of his kingdom. As they rode back to the city Merlin considered bringing the topic up one last time, but he couldn’t bring himself to ruin the pleasant mood. Besides, he knew what Arthur would say. That he had everything under control and Merlin didn’t need to worry himself about it. Better just to leave it be.

-

The lack of a moon in the sky left the land almost too dark to travel through, but that wasn’t going to stop the small party approaching the Great Stones of Nemeton where they loomed menacingly on the landscape. It hadn’t taken as long as Lot had thought it would to find someone willing to give him the information he needed for the ritual. Well, perhaps willing wasn’t the right word. Regardless, he had everything he needed and just in time for the new moon, too. He dismounted a short distance away, as did the men who were with him. There were hours left until sunrise, but Lot was eager to get on with it. The sooner this was done, the sooner he could finalize the rest of his plans.

“Keep an eye out,” Lot ordered. The knights accompanying him took up position to keep an eye on their surroundings, alert. Lot approached the Stones. At the edge of the circle he paused and turned to the sorcerer trailing along behind him. The sorcerer was frowning, his expression uneasy.

“I wish you would reconsider, my lord,” the sorcerer said. “There may not be a way to undo the damage once it has been done.”

“So?” Lot scoffed. “Why would I want it undone? That would defeat the purpose.”

“The magic in the ley lines is what sustains the land,” the sorcerer explained. “If it becomes corrupt I’m not sure the land will be able to endure.”

“Did I ask for a magic lesson?” Lot snapped. “Just get on with it. I was under the impression you wanted to see your family again.”

“Of course, sire,” the sorcerer muttered. Lot withdrew a vial from his pocket, which the sorcerer reluctantly accepted before going to stand in the center of the circle of stones. It was hard to see in the dark, but it looked as if the sorcerer tilted his head to the sky for a moment, as if in prayer. Then he uncorked the vial, hesitated a moment longer, and finally poured the contents onto the ground. The substance was murky and black, thick like sludge, beautiful in the way that terrifying things could be beautiful. The sorcerer’s voice rang out, guttural syllables that wavered with uncertainty. The witch Lot had obtained the vial of poisonous sludge from had explained that the spell would activate it and it would burrow down beneath the earth until it reached the ley line. From there it would grow and spread, infecting the land and weakening magic. Weakening Emrys, exactly as Lot hoped. A weak sorcerer would not be able to defend Camelot.

The last of the spell faded into the night and the sorcerer left the circle. “It is done,” he said.

“Excellent.” A smirk curled Lot’s lips. “You are free to go.” The sorcerer bowed and hastened to where they’d left the horses. Lot remained still, listening to the sounds of a swiftly drawn sword sliding into vulnerable human flesh, the last gurgled protest of the sorcerer, the thump of a lifeless body slumping to the ground. Only then did Lot turn away from the Stones and rejoin his knights. “And the family?”

“Taken care of shortly after we left, sire,” his head knight said. “I made sure my men knew their duty.”

“Your loyalty does you credit,” Lot praised. “Now come, we must return swiftly. There is much to do.”

-

Merlin woke with a startled shout, flying straight of Arthur’s arms to sit on the edge of the bed, gasping. He’d been dreaming about something, something dark and horrible and inescapable. He rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling a lingering pain he wasn’t entirely certain had just been part of the dream. Hands grasped his arms and Merlin flinched away before remembering that it was just Arthur. Relaxing, he let himself be pulled into his husband’s arms. Arthur stroked a hand through his hair and pressed his lips to Merlin’s temple, attempting to sooth. Merlin closed his eyes and focused on taking deep, even breaths.

“What is it?” Arthur asked. “Merlin?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin mumbled. Something was wrong.

“A bad dream?” Arthur guessed, but Merlin shook his head.

“I don’t know.” He was too hot. Merlin pushed at Arthur until he let him sit up, but then a wave of dizziness washed over him. He pressed a hand to his head and murmured, “I don’t feel well.” He felt ill, actually, but couldn’t fathom the reason. After all, he’d felt fine all day. A cool hand touched his forehead. Merlin leaned into it.

“You’re burning up,” Arthur said, alarmed. Merlin blinked, trying to focus. Arthur’s hands fell to his shoulders, easing him back against the pillows. “Lie down. I’ll send for Gaius.” Merlin was only distantly aware of Arthur leaving his side and ordering someone to fetch Gaius. He reached for his magic and found it shy and uncooperative, like a wounded animal. That wasn’t right. What was happening? Exhaustion swept over him. Merlin fought to stay awake, but found himself quickly losing the battle. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him was Arthur’s worried face hovering above his.

-

Arthur would have resorted to pacing by the time Gaius arrived if it weren’t for the fact that pacing would take him from Merlin’s side. It was frightening how quickly the illness had come on. One moment Merlin was awakening from what Arthur could only assume was a vivid nightmare and the next he was burning with fever as he slipped into unconsciousness. Gaius was deceptively calm as he went about examining Merlin, though there were signs of the anxiety the old man must be feeling. After long minutes of poking and prodding Gaius sat back with a sigh.

“Well?” Arthur demanded. “Is it an illness? It can’t be, can it? Not so suddenly. Poison then? Is that it?”

“I cannot say,” Gaius said. “You say he felt fine all day?”

Arthur hesitated before answering and hated himself a bit for it. Shouldn’t he know if Merlin had been feeling off that day? He’d seemed fine when they’d gone out that afternoon, but maybe he just hadn’t said anything. “I didn’t notice anything wrong.”

“It doesn’t sound like any illness or poison I’ve seen before,” Gaius said. “It may not even be natural.”

Arthur frowned. “You think magic may be involved?”

“I think it is a possibility we should not discount. However, I am not an expert.” Gaius began to pack away his supplies. “I suggest you send word to the druids and ask for one of their healers.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Arthur asked, desperate.

Gaius looked at Merlin with a concerned frown. “I’m not sure, sire. I’ll see if I can find any information in my books, but a druid healer will be of more help.”

Arthur swallowed back his frustration. “Thank you, Gaius.”

“Send for me immediately if anything changes.”

“I will.”

Gaius left and Arthur just stood for a moment, feeling helpless. Sighing, he went to sit on the edge of the bed, taking one of Merlin’s limp hands. He sat vigil all through the night, unable to sleep himself, until the first signs of dawn appeared. Then he went to see Sir Leon to give him the very important mission of riding for the nearest druid camp and returning with one of their healers.

“What is this about?” Leon asked as he belted on his sword.

“Something of great importance,” Arthur answered distractedly. His thoughts were back in his chambers where he’d left Gwen tending Merlin.

“Something of great importance,” Leon repeated in a rueful tone. “You are asking me to ride for the druid camp when the sun has barely risen and bring back one of their healers.”

Arthur looked towards the window and the gradually lightening sky beyond it. Should he have sent Leon as soon as Gaius had made the suggestion? It would’ve been dangerous, especially with no moon to light the way, but Leon had not earned the title of First Knight of Camelot for nothing. Surely he would have been fine.  
“Sire? Arthur?”

Arthur snapped out of the tangled snarl of what ifs. “What?”

“This involves Merlin, doesn’t it,” Leon said.

“Yes.” Arthur didn’t elaborate further and Leon didn’t press. In the courtyard Leon’s horse was already saddled and ready for the journey. However, Leon hadn’t even yet swung himself up onto his mount when someone cantered into the courtyard. Arthur recognized Iseldir as he leapt from his mount and made straight for the king. He took the steps two at a time, bowing before Arthur.

“Your majesty, I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with Emrys,” Iseldir said. Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing over Iseldir’s shoulder at the courtyard. It wasn’t yet crowded, but there were a few servants and guards meandering about. This wasn’t the ideal place to discuss this. The last thing he wanted to do was provide fuel for rumors by giving someone an opportunity to eavesdrop.

“Your arrival is fortunate,” Arthur said. “As it turns out, a matter has recently come to my attention that would benefit from your expertise.” Iseldir frowned and Arthur noticed that he didn’t seem like himself. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink last night and there was a haunted air about him.

“I must insist, sire-”

“It will only take a moment.” Iseldir must have seen something in his expression because the druid immediately ceased arguing and followed Arthur into the citadel. At a gesture, Leon left his horse in the hands of a stable boy and followed as well. Arthur picked a room at random, being sure to search it carefully for signs of courtiers or servants. Leon barred the door.

“Merlin fell ill last night,” Arthur said, cutting straight to the point. “He woke from some sort of nightmare and was soon overcome with a fever. He hasn’t woken since. Gaius said he suspects magic is involved. Is that possible?”

Iseldir paled. “It is possible,” he admitted. “Would it be possible for me to see Emrys? I may have some idea of what is happening.”

“Of course.” Arthur led the way up to his chambers. George was sat by the fire doing some meticulous mending, throwing frequent worried looks over his shoulder to the bed. Beside the bed sat Gwen, wiping the sweat from Merlin’s brow with a cool, damp cloth.

“Nothing’s changed,” she reported when she noticed them. She stepped back to allow Iseldir to perform his own examination. The air was tense, fear and hope mingling together. The silence was broken only by Iseldir’s voice, murmuring soft spells under his breath. When he sat back his countenance was grim.

“This is worse than I feared,” Iseldir said.

“What is it?” Arthur asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

“It appears that Emrys is dying.”

Arthur felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs. “What? Dying? Dying from what? Something you can cure, right?”

“I’m not so sure, sire,” Iseldir said, shaking his head. “This sort of magic is beyond me. Besides, I’m not so sure the problem lies solely with Emrys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night, many in my tribe felt something dark. We have since noticed that our magic is weakened.”

“Weakened by what?” Gwen asked.

“I’m not sure,” Iseldir admitted. “Although...there is one thing I can think of. The problem is that something has poisoned Emrys’s magic. That combined with the experience of my own people...but no, nobody would be so foolish.”

“Tell me,” Arthur demanded.

“It may have to do with the ley lines,” Iseldir explained. “The magic within them is what sustains the earth. If one were to poison the ley lines it is possible that it would weaken those of us with magic.”

“But why is Merlin so ill?” Arthur pressed. “You said your people felt something dark last night and that you’re magic is weakened now, but you said nothing of anyone falling ill. If this really does have to do with the ley lines then why just Merlin?”

“Emrys isn’t like us,” Iseldir said. “He was born of the earth. What affects one may affect the other.” The words struck a chord with Arthur. He remembered one particularly miserable rainy day over a year ago. Gaius had taken ill and though he’d recovered and not seemed to suffer any ill effects for it, Merlin had been in a mood the entire time. He’d already lost his father once, Arthur knew, back when Balinor had died before Merlin even had a chance to know him. It was understandable for him to the fear the loss of a second father. The sky had been dark for days and had only grown darker until the clouds had opened up and unleashed a mighty downpour. After slogging through the rain and the mud to The Rising Sun in an attempt to distract Merlin from Gaius’s condition, Gwaine had joked about how appropriate it was that the weather seemed to reflect Merlin’s mood. Arthur had expected Merlin to roll his eyes. Instead he’d glanced towards the door, blushed a bit, and mumbled an apology. It wasn’t until they’d left the tavern hours later to the last of the clouds dispersing that Arthur made the connection and realized that the weather hadn’t _seemed_ to reflect Merlin’s mood. It _had_ reflected it.

“There must be something we can do,” Arthur said. “If it is the ley lines then how do we fix it?”

“I do not know, sire,” Iseldir said. “That knowledge is beyond me.”

“Then it is hopeless.”

But Iseldir shook his head. “Not entirely. I do not possess the knowledge to advise on this matter, but I may know of someone who does.”

“Who?”

“The high priestess who resides at the Isle of the Blessed.”

Arthur frowned. “There are no more high priestesses.”

“There is always a high priestess. When Lady Morgana died the Old Religion selected someone new to take her place. In time it may even be that the Isle will once again be occupied by the full nine.”

“And you think the high priestess will know what to do?”

“Yes.”

Arthur nodded to himself, confirming a plan already formed in his head. “Leon.”

The knight stepped forward immediately. “Sire.”

“Find Bedivere and have him select a contingent of knights,” Arthur ordered. “Make sure he knows that I wish to leave immediately.”

“But sire-” Leon tried to protest.

“I must go, Leon,” Arthur insisted. Leon nodded, understanding. As he bowed and left, Arthur turned to Gwen. “I need you to look after Camelot while I’m gone.”

“Of course,” Gwen agreed immediately. Arthur turned back to the bed. He was aware of Gwen excusing herself from the royal chambers, taking Iseldir with her, but paid them little mind. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached out and brushed Merlin’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. He clasped one limp hand between his own and brought it to his lips, kissing it. Someone cleared their throat behind him and Arthur jumped, turning to see George standing a few feet away. He’d forgotten the servant was even in the room.

“You will look after him until I return, won’t you George?” Arthur asked. George’s bow was solemn, a promise in itself.

“Of course, my lord.”

That last thing he wanted to do was leave Merlin’s side, but the sooner they left for the Isle of the Blessed the sooner this would all be resolved. Arthur dressed quickly and went straight down to the courtyard. Llamrei was saddled and waiting, prancing nervously. Bedivere and five others were there, supervising as the last of the supplies was loaded up. There wasn’t much, as they intended to travel light and fast.

“Sire,” Bedivere bowed. “We’re ready to leave when you are.”

“Good, then mount up. I don’t want to waste a single second.”

-

From a distance the Isle of the Blessed didn’t look much different from the last time Arthur had been there, seeking to heal the tear between the worlds. It was only once he and his knights set foot on the Isle that it became clear things had changed. Where once there had been nothing but limp grass, wildflowers now crept across the ground. There was a sense of life in the Isle that had been dulled before. Behind him Arthur heard Lamorak suck in an awed breath.

They wove through the ruins until they reached what must once have been a grand room, now surrounded by crumbling stone, it’s only decoration the vines twisting over the walls and the cracked altar at its center. Now that there wasn’t a giant tear marring the landscape it felt peaceful. He blinked and there was a woman standing by the altar.

“What brings you to the Isle, Arthur Pendragon?” she asked.

“Are you the high priestess?”

“I am Carwen. The Old Religion selected me to take the Lady Morgana’s place.”

“I need your help,” Arthur said, and he knew he was letting some of his desperation slip into his voice, but he didn’t care. “Merlin, Emrys-” The name felt strange on his tongue. “-is ill. Iseldir of the druids said he thinks it may have something to do with the ley lines and that you would know how to fix it.”

The high priestess looked troubled at his words. “I have sensed something dark in the land,” Carwen said. “This news you bring me of Emrys only confirms my suspicions. The ley lines have been poisoned.”

Despite all that Iseldir had said Arthur wasn’t sure he knew what that meant and regretted that he hadn’t asked. He remembered Merlin telling him of ley lines once. “ _They’re like the veins that carry our blood,_ ” Merlin had said. “ _Only they carry magic beneath the surface of the earth. Just as our blood sustains us, so too does that magic sustain the earth._ ”

“As the ley lines are poisoned the land will slowly die,” Carwen continued. “When the earth dies, all will die with it.”

“Great,” Kay muttered. “It can never be easy, can it.”

Arthur ignored him. “Is there a way to stop it?”

“There is,” Carwen said. “The ley lines must be healed.” She looked up at the sky. “It is late. Rest for the night. Tomorrow I will tell you what needs to be done.”

“But-”

“Rest, King Arthur. Night will be upon us soon and I require time to make preparations. We will speak tomorrow, I promise.”

Arthur didn’t want to wait, but he forced himself to be patient. Nothing good came of rushing magic, that much Merlin had managed to impress upon him over the years.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. Carwen smiled and when next Arthur blinked she was gone.

-

Sleep didn’t come easy to Arthur. He laid down with the rest of his men and closed his eyes with every intention of resting, but immediately all of his anxieties came rushing to the forefront. His eyes would fly open and all exhaustion would leave him in a rush of adrenaline that wore off as quickly as it had come. It was proving impossible to banish the image of Merlin from his mind, sick with fever, sweat beading his brow and chest rising too fast and too shallow. Arthur feared that they would return to Camelot only to find it was too late.

Someone sat down beside him and a glance from the corner of his eye revealed it to be Bedivere. He didn’t say anything, just offered Arthur his silent company as the hours of the night dragged by. There’d always been something calming and reassuring about Bedivere’s quiet presence.

“Everything will be alright,” Bedivere said, ever an optimist. The sun was no doubt near rising on the distant horizon, but neither of them had moved much throughout the night. “We’ll fix this.” Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than nod.

He cleared his throat and managed, “You should get some sleep, Bedivere.”

“I could say the same of you, my lord. You will not be at your best if you don’t sleep.”

Arthur’s appreciative smile was strained. He was tempted to spill all his worries to his knight. But not here on the Isle of the Blessed with a high priestess he didn’t know and his other knights sleeping nearby. When the silence continued to stretch Bedivere sighed. There was a rustle of chain mail and fabric as he settled down on his bedroll. Arthur told himself once more that he should do the same, even glanced over to his empty bedroll a few feet away. Merlin would have dragged him over there by now and forced him to lie down and rest. Then again, if Merlin were there then Arthur wouldn’t be having so much trouble sleeping. He sighed. Bedivere was right. He should at least try and get some sleep. Without rest he wouldn’t be at his best and who knew what it would take to heal the ley lines?

-

Morning came and Arthur once again stood in the former altar room. His knights were restless behind him. Carwen entered and stood before them, a charm dangling from her hand. “This is a temporary solution,” she explained. “Tie it around Emrys’s wrist and it will cut him off from his magic.”

“Cut him off?” Arthur repeated. The thought was unsettling. Merlin wasn’t Merlin without his magic.

“It is Emrys’s magic that poisons him,” Carwen said. “The only way to spare him from the ill effects is to cut him off from it. As I said, a temporary solution. Something to provide relief until the ley lines can be healed.”

“And what will that entail?” Arthur asked.

“Unfortunately, healing the damage will not be simple. It will require magic from the Triple Goddess herself. I will need your assistance, King Arthur. Will you give it?”

“Yes.” Arthur’s answer was immediate and without hesitation. There was no question about it. It wasn’t just Merlin or even Camelot at stake. It was everyone. Arthur would do whatever was necessary to help Carwen.

Carwen smiled. “Excellent. Healing the ley lines will require a ritual which can only be performed on the night of a full moon. This ritual requires a special item imbued with the power of the Triple Goddess. This item must be obtained deep in the north, far beyond these lands. There in the mountains you will find a sacred pool. I will give you a token which you must toss into the sacred pool to summon the Goddess.” She produced a round piece of metal no bigger than a coin and handed it to Arthur, along with the charm meant for Merlin. “I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the importance of our success. There is much at stake.”

“I will leave for the north as soon as possible,” Arthur promised. “How long do we have?”

“I couldn’t say,” Carwen admitted. “There is no telling how fast the poison will spread. It could be months, weeks, days, even years. I can only guess.”

“In that case, we should be on our way.” Arthur carefully tucked away the token and the charm. “Thank you for your help and your hospitality.”

Carwen accepted his thanks with a solemn nod. “Safe travels, King Arthur, and good luck. I will be praying for your success.”

-

They rode hard for Camelot, stopping only when it was necessary. The men were silent. Arthur could read the concern on each of their faces, knowing it was reflected in his own. They reached Camelot not long before sunset on the second day. In the courtyard Arthur had barely pulled his horse to a halt before leaping from the saddle and all but running to the royal chambers. Gaius and Iseldir were both there, conferring in low tones that ceased when they saw him. Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, Leon standing at her shoulder as a silent support. At the foot of the bed stood Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan. Arthur frowned at them as he approached.

“You have duties to attend to, do you not?” he asked.

“He’s our friend,” Gwaine said. Arthur nodded. He made for the bed and Gwen moved out of his way.

“What’s that?” she asked. Arthur glanced down at the charm in his hand.

“The high priestess said it will cut Merlin off from his magic so that he won’t feel the effects of the poisoned ley lines,” he explained. It seemed as if everyone were holding their breath as he sat on the edge of the mattress and tied the leather cord around Merlin’s limp wrist. For a moment nothing happened. Then Merlin began to stir.

There was nothing compared to the feeling swelling in Arthur's chest when Merlin opened his eyes. Self restraint kept him from throwing himself on the bed in an undignified heap, not wanting to smother. But when Merlin began struggling to sit up, still weak and exhausted, Arthur reached forward and drew his husband into his arms. Merlin settled against him, content to be held.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Arthur whispered into his hair. He felt Merlin smile against his neck.

“Scared the hell out of myself,” he mumbled.

“This is not the end, sire.” Iseldir’s voice cut through the relief permeating the room. Arthur held Merlin tighter.

“That is for later,” Arthur said, firm and stubborn. He looked over his shoulder. Iseldir looked like he was considering arguing the point, but then he thought better of it and instead bowed and took his leave.

“I’ll see to it that the court knows of their prince’s improved health,” Leon said and he too left. Gwen followed him out with the intention of helping. There were things Arthur needed to do as well, preparations to be made for his departure, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Merlin. Finally, Gaius stepped forward, stating that he would like to examine Merlin, after which Merlin should be allowed to rest. Arthur reluctantly let his husband go and turned his attention to the upcoming quest. He gestured for Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan to join him at the table on the other side of the room.

“The situation isn’t good,” Arthur began. He kept his voice low, determined not to disturb Gaius and Merlin.

“Exactly what is the situation?” Gwaine asked. “Iseldir mentioned something about ley lines? I don’t even know what those are.”

“They supply the earth with magic,” Arthur explained. “Unfortunately, someone has poisoned them.”

“Lot,” Percival stated.

“Possible, but we have no proof.” Arthur waved a hand at Gwaine before he could protest. “It doesn’t matter who did it right now. What’s important is fixing it. The high priestess I met at the Isle of the Blessed said she can perform a ritual, but she needs an item for it that can only be obtained far in the north.”

“How far north?” Elyan asked.

“Far,” Arthur said. “From the sound of it the journey there alone will take a week’s time.”

“Alright,” Gwaine said, leaning back in his seat. “When do we leave?”

“We don’t leave,” Arthur said. He held up a hand to stop protests. “I want the three of you here, along with Leon, to protect Merlin.” Three pairs of eyes automatically looked to the other side of the room. “He will need your support far more than I.”

“Yeah, alright,” Gwaine grudgingly relented. It was a pretense. Much as Gwaine loved a good quest, he loved Merlin more. If it were ever up to him he would always choose protecting Merlin over pride and glory. Percival and Elyan also murmured their agreement. A moment later Gaius appeared at Arthur’s side and the three knights excused themselves from the room.

“How is he?” Arthur asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Gaius admitted. “The fever does seem to be receding. He’s asleep right now, but wake him up in a bit and make sure he eats and drinks. Otherwise, let him rest.” Arthur nodded. Gaius gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and left.

-

Galahad approached the royal chambers with all the anxiety of a man going to the chopping block. Logically, he knew there was no reason to fear a summons from the king, but he was nervous anyway. King Arthur had been on edge as of late and while Galahad tried not to indulge in rumors it was almost impossible to miss the one that said the prince consort was gravely ill, maybe even dying. The doors loomed before Galahad and the young knight had the impression of standing before the closed mouth of a great beast, waiting for it to decide whether or not it fancied a bite of him. You’re being ridiculous, Galahad scolded himself. Still, his fist hesitated before knocking on the door.

Instead of being called to enter, Galahad was let into the room by George, who gestured for him to be quiet. Curtains were drawn across the room to hid the sleeping area, but when George slipped through Galahad caught sight heavy curtains drawn across the window to keep out the afternoon sunlight. He thought again of the rumor saying the king’s husband was deathly ill. From behind the curtain came the soft murmur of voices, too quiet to make out words. A moment later the king appeared. Galahad bowed.

“Reporting as requested, sire,” the knight said, keeping his voice low in respect to the atmosphere of the room. The king looked him over with an unreadable expression before taking a seat at his table and gesturing for Galahad to join him.

“The matter I must discuss with you is one that is not to be repeated outside this room,” the king said. “Can I trust you to hold your silence?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” The king cast a glance over his shoulder and sighed before continuing. “I am well aware there are rumors about the castle of Merlin being deathly ill. These rumors aren’t entirely unfounded. Unfortunately it goes a great deal beyond a normal sickness.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will do my best to explain. Merlin is connected to the earth through his magic. What affects one can affect the other. Someone has poisoned the ley lines that channel magic through the earth. Because of his connection with it, Merlin has also been poisoned. He is dying.”

Galahad sucked in a sharp breath and couldn’t help but glance toward the partitioned area, behind which Camelot’s prince consort was certain to lay. “Is there no way to stop it?” he asked.

“There is,” the king said. “A high priestess at the Isle of the Blessed has described a ritual that will heal the ley lines, thereby healing Merlin. But it requires an item which can only be acquired in the north. I will personally be leading an expedition to retrieve this item. In my absence, Merlin will be acting ruler of Camelot.”

“But you said he was deathly ill,” Galahad pointed out. “I mean no disrespect sire, but is he...will he be able to rule?”

“The high priestess gave me a charm. So long as Merlin wears it he will be separated from his magic and, for the most part, spared the effects of the poisoned ley lines. But he will also be vulnerable. This is where you come in.” The king sat up straighter and Galahad mirrored him. “I am entrusting my husband’s safety to you, Sir Galahad.”

“Me?” The young knight couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. “Surely there is one more suited to this task. Sir Leon, perhaps. Or Sir Gwaine.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Galahad,” the king said. “You are one of the finest knights I have ever had the privilege of knowing.” The praise warmed him, but Galahad still felt under qualified for the mission of guarding Camelot’s prince consort. Sensing this, the king leaned forward to look him in the eye. “I would never ask something of you that I did not know with absolute confidence that you could handle, Galahad. Will you do this for me? Will you protect Merlin while I’m away?”

Galahad slid from his seat to kneel before King Arthur, head bowed, hand fisted over his heart. “I swear that I will protect his highness until my last breath,” the young knight pledged. When he looked up the king was smiling. He reached down and placed his hand on Galahad’s shoulder.

“Thank you. You may go.”

Galahad rose and left.

-

Merlin slept almost straight through the next day. It was evening by the time he felt rested enough to get out of bed. George leaped up from the chair he’d been dozing in and reached out as if to push Merlin back against the pillows, but Merlin’s withering glare stopped him in his tracks. He’d been laid up for days. It was high time he got up and stretched his legs. George hovered nearby, twitching when Merlin wobbled a bit upon first standing. It was strange to be on his feet. Merlin stretched, enjoying the way his bones cracked away their stiffness, then moved to the window, drawing back the curtains to reveal a stunning sunset.

Hands came to rest on Merlin’s hips, startling him, and a pair of lips brushed the back of his neck. “You’re feeling better then?” Arthur asked, hopeful. Merlin leaned against him.

“Much better,” he replied.

“Good.”

Merlin let the silence stretch, enjoying it. The sun sank lower and somewhere behind them George moved about the room lighting candles and straightening the room. When the last rays of evening light were struggling against the night sky, fading with every passing second, Merlin turned and looped his arms around Arthur’s neck. The charm glinted in the candlelight as it moved, but Merlin didn’t spare it much thought.

“So,” Merlin began, “something has happened to the ley lines. That much I can figure out for myself. Tell me the rest of it.”

“There’s not much else to tell,” Arthur said. “But we’re handling it.”

“Don’t do that,” Merlin said. Arthur frowned.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t coddle me, not now. Don’t tell me it’s nothing to worry about. I need to know what’s going on.”

“You’re right.” Arthur fell quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “The high priestess at the Isle of the Blessed said that the land has been poisoned,” Arthur finally said. “We don’t know who, though I have my suspicions.”

“Lot?”

“It sounds like the sort of thing he would do, yes.”

“I don’t suppose the High Priestess knew of a way to reverse the damage being done to the ley lines.”

“She did.” Arthur explained the journey he would embark on to the north the following day at first light.

“Alba?” Merlin recalled a map of the isles. “Why so far north?”

“I’ve no idea,” Arthur said, shrugging. “The High Priestess didn’t say. Are you suspicious?”

“No, of course not. I just wish it weren’t so far.”

Arthur’s arms tightened around him. “I’ll be back before you know it. Ah, that reminds me, there’s something else I have to tell you.”

“What could possible be worse than the ley lines being poisoned, possibly by King Lot?”

“It’s not bad news. It’s not any kind of news at all actually. I spoke with Sir Galahad this afternoon.”

“Ah, my favorite knight,” Merlin said.

“Gwaine is quite offended by that, you know.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Arthur laughed, shaking his head. “You say it so often just because you know it bugs him, don’t you?”

“He’s the one who stole every pair of boots I own so I would have to walk around barefoot all day.”

“True.” Arthur frowned. “Wait, I thought he missed a pair.”

“Those were yours. I resized them.”

“You can do that? Just resize a pair of boots?”

“Very handy spell. I’m excellent with shoes, but clothes have proved to be a bit more difficult. So why did you speak with Sir Galahad this afternoon?”

Arthur grew serious once more. “I’ve asked him to look after you while I’m gone.”

Merlin’s first reaction was to protest that he could look after himself just fine, but he squashed it and nodded instead. With his magic blocked off it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone close at hand, just in case. You never knew what would happen.

“One question,” Merlin said. “If you’re going to be the one leading this grand quest into the north, who’s in charge of Camelot while you’re gone?”

“I would think that would be obvious,” Arthur said, smiling. “You, of course.”

Merlin wondered for a moment if he weren’t still trapped in one of those delirious dreams he’d had while practically comatose in bed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Arthur’s smile slipped from his face. “Why wouldn’t it be? You are Prince Consort of Camelot, after all.”

“Oh, so you _do_ remember what that means.” Merlin almost pulled away from Arthur, but couldn’t bring himself to do it when he remembered that Arthur would be gone for the next two weeks. Longer, probably, since he would have to return to the Isle of the Blessed as well.

“Of course I remember what it means,” Arthur said.

“You’ve never acted like it before. I thought maybe...that perhaps you didn’t trust me.”

“Trust you? I trust you more than anyone. I just didn’t think you’d want-”

“What?” Merlin interrupted. “You didn’t think I’d want to help you? You didn’t think I’d want to share the responsibilities of the kingdom? Did you ever think that maybe you should ask me what I do and don’t want?” Arthur looked away, expression troubled.

“I didn’t think…” he muttered.

“Well that much is clear.”

A chair scraped across the floor, loud and jarring. Merlin looked over Arthur’s shoulder and could just see George through the gap in the drapes silently putting the chair back in place. He looked back at Arthur, seeing confusion and pain and guilt all mixed up together in his eyes. Arthur leaned their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he whispered. Merlin stole a quick kiss.

“And I love you,” he whispered back. “Look, just forget about it.”

“But-”

“For tonight. Forget about it for tonight.” Merlin leaned in closer, mouth against Arthur’s ear. “I would much rather you take me to bed right now, so that I have something good to remember you by while you’re gone.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Arthur said. He leaned back to look over his shoulder and called out, “George, that will be all for the evening.” The servant stopped whatever he’d been occupying himself with and left. Then Arthur drew Merlin towards their bed.

They made love slowly. Merlin savored every moment of it. Every touch, every kiss, every sound that filled the candlelit room, all of it was stored away in a special place where Merlin kept other such memories, like the first time Arthur had kissed him and the first time Gaius had beamed with pride at him as he handled his first patient all on his own and the day of his wedding. That place had been growing bare as of late, what with the undercurrent of tension between them, but maybe that would change once Arthur returned from his quest. Because it became clear to Merlin as he watched Arthur move above him that his husband did indeed still love him. It shone through in his eyes and in the tender way his hands caressed him. Every one of his thrusts were perfectly angled to send sparks dancing across Merlin’s vision. His lips kept brushing over naked skin, soft and almost ticklish, but still pleasant. Merlin could feel Arthur’s love for him. In that moment Merlin believed that whatever had happened since their marriage, they would get through it. Because Arthur loved him. And he loved Arthur.

-

The morning of Arthur’s departure was subdued. Merlin woke when his husband slipped out of bed at dawn. He lay against the pillows, watching as George moved silently and efficiently to help Arthur dress and finish packing for the journey. When Arthur sat down for the quick breakfast George had brought Merlin slipped out of bed to join him.

“How do you feel this morning?” Arthur asked.

“A bit tired,” Merlin admitted. “But otherwise fine.” Arthur reached across the table and took his hand.

“This will all be over soon,” he promised. “Will you come see me off?”

“Of course. I just need to dress.” Merlin stood and turned to go to the wardrobe, only to see that George had already draped an outfit over the changing screen before moving to make the bed. His relationship with George was a bit complicated. There’d been the tense first meeting between servants back during the first year of Arthur’s reign and their rivalry had continued up until the wedding. After that, George had been appointed as Arthur’s new manservant (again) and, after a fashion, Merlin’s. Merlin had been expecting the royal chambers to be festering with tension, but as it turned out he and George got on quite well these days. Other than feelings of irritation that Merlin still insisted on dressing himself most days and would sometimes take over his old job of helping Arthur into his armor, there was little animosity between them.

Today of all days Merlin was grateful for George. He wasn’t just tired, as he’d told Arthur. He was exhausted, despite going to bed early and sleeping straight through the night. The charm from the Isle kept the worst of the effects at bay, but it wasn’t 100% effective. And to add to that, Merlin wasn’t particularly comfortable with his magic being out of reach, no matter what harm it would do to him otherwise, not when there may be need to defend the kingdom.

When he emerged from behind the changing screen it was to see George just disappearing out the door with the laundry basket and Arthur doing up his sword belt. Merlin went over and brushed Arthur’s hands aside, doing it with practiced ease. Arthur huffed a tiny laugh, a smile on his lips that Merlin correctly interpreted as wry.

“After ten years I should hope I wouldn’t forget it that easily,” Merlin said. He frowned, hesitating. “I don’t know that I’m entirely comfortable being charged with Camelot’s care.”

“You’ll do fine,” Arthur said easily.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Neither had I the first time I was forced to take charge for my father.”

“Yes, I do remember that, seeing as I was there and all, encouraging you every step of the way.” Merlin gave his husband a pointed look. Arthur had barely been supportive of him since their marriage. Though now Merlin wasn’t sure if it was because Arthur didn’t trust him, as he’d assumed, or because Arthur was really just that bad at interpersonal communication. He could believe the latter, having seen enough of what Uther had considered to be affection.

“I know you can do it,” Arthur insisted. He took Merlin’s hands. “You’re brilliant.”

“It would’ve been great to have heard that a long time ago,” Merlin said. “Arthur, I’ve never led anyone in my life. And I’m pretty sure at least half the council has no respect for me.”

“The druids look to you for leadership,” Arthur pointed out. “As do other sorcerers.”

“That’s different,” Merlin said. “They don’t look to Merlin for leadership. They look to Emrys. There’ve been prophecies about Emrys for centuries. The dawn of time, if you ask some people. That doesn’t mean anything here. Here I’m just...a serving boy. Who pretends to be something more.”

“You’re much more than that.”

“Then why do you never want my help?”

Arthur glanced away. “I thought you didn’t want any of the burdens of the kingdom.”

“What about all those times I asked you if there was something I could do to help?”

“I assumed you were just doing what you thought you were supposed to.”

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to do! I thought you would tell me! And when you didn’t, I asked, but you just told me not to worry about it, that you had everything taken care of. I was under the impression you wanted to marry a spouse you loved who could support you during your rule. Apparently I was misinformed.”

“I thought you would be happier this way,” Arthur said helplessly.

“Happy?” Merlin shook his head, struggling to comprehend. “How on earth could I be happy when I think my husband has no confidence in me?”

“Merlin…”

“I just don’t understand. What did I do to make you think I couldn’t support you?”

“I _do_ you think you can support me.”

“Then why-”

A sharp knock on the door cut Merlin off mid sentence and Leon poked his head in a moment later. “I apologize if I’m intruding,” Leon said, “but everything is ready for your departure, sire.”

“Thank you Leon,” Arthur said. “I’ll be right down.” Leon nodded and left, letting the door swing shut behind him. A thick silence settled over the royal chambers.

“Now isn’t a good time to have this discussion,” Merlin said, tugging his hands free of Arthur’s.

“But we will talk about this,” Arthur said. “When I return. It’s become clear to me that there has been a grave misunderstanding between us at some point since we married and I want to correct that. I was just...just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Merlin asked, incredulous. “I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not fragile.”

“I didn’t say you were-”

“Arthur.” Merlin sighed. “Just tell me one thing. Would you even be asking this of me if I were able to come with you?” Arthur’s silence spoke volumes and Merlin shook his head again. “Well, it’s done, I suppose. You should get going. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can discuss this and understand where we’re both coming from.” Arthur fiddled with the ring on his thumb, looking wrong footed.

“Are you...are you mad at me?” He sounded so small and insecure. Merlin smiled and leaned in to kiss him. He meant it to be a quick little peck, but Arthur grabbed him round the waist and held him close, gently parting Merlin’s lips to tangle their tongues together in a slow, languid dance. When they parted Arthur kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, just below his ear. “So, not mad at me?” he whispered.

“No, not mad,” Merlin said. “Worried though. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re leaving you’re most skilled knights here when you’re the one going off on a dangerous quest.”

“I’d much rather they be here to protect you,” Arthur said.

“I thought that was what Galahad was for.”

“I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I will be. Just be careful, Arthur.”

“I will,” Arthur promised. He reached for his cloak, but Merlin beat him to it, draping it reverently around his king’s shoulders. His hands lingered on the clasp after he did it up until Arthur caught them in his own again. “I will be very careful,” he said, then dropped Merlin’s hands and offered his arm. Merlin rolled his eyes, but took it anyway.

They walked through the halls in silence, the echo of their footfalls seeming obscenely loud against the tense atmosphere. Arthur was no doubt thinking of the quest ahead of him. Merlin’s thoughts were caught up in his new responsibilities as acting regent of Camelot. Dealing with magical matters, advising Arthur, assisting Gaius in dealing with patients were all things he was used to handling, things he could handle with confidence. But being the one in charge, the one who actually made the decisions, the one who everyone turned to? That made him nervous. It would be him who was now supposed to keep the lords and barons in line. It would be him who had the final say on major decisions. It would be him the people turned to in times of need. Perhaps he was overreacting. After all, Arthur was only supposed to be gone a few weeks and who was to say those weeks wouldn’t be quiet? But Merlin remembered the conversations they’d had about Lot, who’d sought the advice of a seer not too long ago. And besides that he just felt...something. There was a sense deep in his bones, like an oncoming storm. It could be nothing. Or it could be an omen.

The knights Arthur had selected to join him were already in the courtyard. The usual chatter they tended to engage in while waiting was absent, replaced by silent, grim expressions. At the top of the stairs stood Leon and Gwen, equally silent and grim. They bowed and curtsied when Arthur and Merlin appeared. Arthur lingered. When he went to pull his arm away all he ended up doing was holding Merlin’s hand instead.

“We’ll be fine,” Merlin assured him. Gwen and Leon did their best to look confident and capable.

“I know,” Arthur said. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Merlin’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon.” Then he wrenched himself away. The three of them remained there at the top of the steps as Arthur and his party mounted and departed from the courtyard. Uncertainty settled low in Merlin’s gut, right next to the great big ball of worry he didn’t think he’d ever be rid of.

“Everything will be fine,” Gwen said.

Merlin just gave her a look. Sighing, he wandered back into the citadel and nearly walked straight into Sir Galahad. The young knight bowed and apologized immediately.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going sire!”

“It’s alright,” Merlin assured him. “No harm done.” Merlin liked Galahad. If he’d had his pick of which knight Arthur was going to assign to stick to him like glue, Galahad would have been at the top of his list. He really hoped Arthur was just being paranoid though.


	2. Chapter 2

The first day of Arthur’s absence seemed too normal. Merlin had woken up alone so often of late that his first thought as he sat up was that Arthur had once again left him alone in bed while he went off to train knights or whatever. Except he hadn’t woken of his own volition, he’d woken when George had flung the curtains open, revealing the day to still be early, and announcing that breakfast was ready. Merlin knuckled an eye and caught the glint of the charm on his wrist. Then he remembered that Arthur had left the previous day on a quest to heal the ley lines and he had been left in charge of Camelot. That was when he panicked. Silently, but he did panic. For all that Merlin had wished for a way to prove to Arthur that he could handle helping him rule the kingdom, he admitted to himself that he hadn’t been at all prepared to be suddenly thrust into the role of regent. He had the terrible feeling that the only way this could end was in disaster.

Not long before midday George came to him and told him, with a distinct sniff of disapproval, that one of the lords had convened the council in the old council chambers, the one with the long square table that had not been used since the first year of Arthur’s reign. It was one of the most obvious attempts to subvert Merlin’s authority that could be made and it had only been a day since Arthur’s departure from Camelot. Merlin wasn’t sure how he was to last two weeks like this. Ruling kingdoms was what Arthur was good at. It was his destiny, not Merlin’s. Nevertheless, Arthur had left him in charge and that meant he needed to do something. He pulled himself up from the desk where he’d been looking over paperwork all morning. After a moment of thought he turned to George.

“Let’s make an impression,” Merlin decided.

“Crown or circlet, sire?” George asked.

“Mm, circlet. A crown might be a bit too much. We just need to remind them who’s in charge here.”

“Very good, sire.”

The circlet was smooth silver inlaid with purple gems, commissioned by Arthur as a gift shortly after their wedding. It was simple, but elegant, and clearly expensive. Merlin adored it. He didn’t often go for Arthur’s more lavish gifts, but the circlet was far more than that. It was a symbol of his status as Camelot’s Prince Consort and would serve as a good reminder to some of the court that he was the one with the authority while Arthur was away, not any of them. Merlin may not entirely know what he was doing, but he did know that the last thing he wanted was for Arthur to return and find his kingdom in ruins because Merlin couldn’t keep a handle on the council. He stood still while George smooth out his tunic and reverently placed the circlet on his head and then he headed towards the council chambers, nodding in acknowledgement when Galahad fell into step with him. He paused for a moment outside the doors to gather himself. When he was ready, he nodded at the guards standing sentry on the doors and they stepped forward to pull the doors open. If he weren’t mistaken, one of them seemed to be smirking.

Merlin swept into the room with his head held high and the room immediately fell silent. Around the table, council members bowed their heads in shame. Someone cleared their throat. And at the head of the table, in the seat reserved for the reigning monarch or their regent, was Lord DeGrey.

“I do not recall calling for an assembly of the council today,” Merlin said. “Nor giving anyone else the authority to do so. Would you care to explain your actions, Lord DeGrey?”

“My deepest apologies, your highness,” Lord DeGrey said, even bowing his head a little. “I was under the impression you had recently taken ill and thought I would take some of the burden of ruling in the king’s absence from you.”

“As you can see, I feel in perfect health, Lord DeGrey,” Merlin said. “Your actions have proved entirely unnecessary. If I didn’t know better, I would think this an act of treason.”

“No, of course not,” Lord DeGrey said quickly. “My loyalty has always been with the Pendragon family.”

“Perhaps next time you would find it far wiser to enquire after my health yourself before making presumptions about it.”

“Of course, your highness.”

“Now that we have that settled, I’m sure many of you have other things to see to today.” Merlin stayed where he was as the members of council hastily rose from their seats and filed out of the hall, many of them murmuring sincere and frightened apologies as they passed. Lord DeGrey was the last to leave, not quite managing to hide the flicker of irritation in his gaze. When the hall was empty, Merlin let his shoulders slump. It wasn’t as if this was unexpected. Every court had at least one ambitious courtier looking to take all the power for themselves. Lord DeGrey was Camelot’s. It only made sense that he would take advantage of Arthur’s absence to make a bid for the power he craved. And Merlin was aware there had been rumors about the castle that he was on his deathbed recently, which would only further encourage Lord DeGrey’s ambitions. They’d have to keep an especially close eye on him until the king’s return.

“This is going to be a long two weeks,” Merlin said.

“I am sure you will weather it well, you majesty,” George said. Merlin turned to look at him with surprise.

“I wasn’t aware you had such faith in me George.”

George shrugged, then reconsidered. “Permission to speak freely, sire?”

“Of course.” Merlin didn’t think he’d ever get used to that, no matter how many years passed.

“This position suits you far better than being a servant ever did.”

Merlin smiled, warmed a bit by the words. “That remains to be seen, but thank you, George.” George bowed and left. When the doors were closed once more Merlin went to sit at the head of the table, already feeling tired, though the day was only half done.

“I have to agree with George, my lord,” Galahad spoke up. Merlin glanced at him.

“You weren’t even here when I was a servant,” he pointed out.

“True. Nevertheless, I think you underestimate yourself.”

“Hm, perhaps.” Gods, what had Arthur been thinking? Even at his best Merlin didn’t think of himself as qualified to rule a kingdom and now he was expected to do it while battling the symptoms of what amounted to the end of the world. The charm helped in that it kept him from feeling much more than the exhaustion. But the separation from his magic unnerved him. It would be over soon, he told himself. Then maybe he’d tell Arthur that he wasn’t cut out for this, that their marriage was a mistake. After all, love wasn’t the only thing that made a marriage work and Merlin was starting to think it was the only thing they didn’t fall short on. Time would tell, he supposed. In the meantime he’d just have to hold it together and hope nothing disastrous happened over the next two weeks.

-

For five days the journey went smoothly. There was a bit of trouble at an inn in Mercia, but there was always a bit of trouble in Mercia. They were making smooth progress and that was what mattered. Although, Arthur honestly would have preferred a bit more excitement. It would keep him from getting lost inside his own head for hours at a time. Despite the importance of this quest, it was difficult to keep his mind from straying back to Camelot. Back to Merlin. He hadn’t looked well when Arthur had left. Better than when he was all but comatose in bed, but it was obvious that he hadn’t yet managed to recover all his strength. He would be fine, Arthur told himself. Merlin had the support of Gwen and their most trusted knights.

“We’re being followed.”

Arthur shook himself from his thoughts and turned to see Lamorak staring off into the distance back the way they’d come. They were just cleaning up the last of their brief midday meal. Arthur followed Lamorak’s gaze, unable to make anything out, but he knew that Lamorak’s eyes were keener than most. If he said he saw something, Arthur was inclined to believe him.

“Sure you’re not just seeing things?” Bors asked. When Lamorak gave him a flat look Bors elaborated with, “I mean are you sure you’re not making assumptions. How do you know they’re not just merchants or something?”

“Could be,” Lamorak said, though the heavy skepticism in his tone told them how likely he thought that was.

“As long as they keep their distance we won’t worry about it,” Arthur decided. He glanced up at the sun. “Time to get moving. I want to reach the next town by nightfall.”

-

As the first week of his rule came to a close, Merlin found himself hiding out in Gaius’s chambers. He was tired, had been battling a headache all day, and just wanted to curl up in bed and pretend recent events had never happened. Gaius wordlessly set a headache remedy in front of him, but otherwise left his former ward alone and continued with his work. A fire crackled in the hearth, heating a pot of something that smelled foul. Sometimes, back when Merlin was still a servant and still slept in his little room, he’d sit in front of the fire after a long day and conjure shapes in the sparks and smoke. Unlike most times, when Gaius would scold him about using magic so carelessly for something so pointless, his mentor would just keep going about his work and when everything was done he would sit beside Merlin and just watch. Once, Merlin had conjured an entire forest, trees and rocks of smoke, a winding river of sparks, fire birds and deer and even a unicorn meandering through the scene. Merlin lifted his hand now, but there was no familiar surge of magic eager to rise up and take the images in his mind and form them into tangible shapes. He sighed, letting his hand drop. He felt lost without his magic. Magic was who he was.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for leadership,” Merlin confessed. Gaius frowned at him.

“Nonsense, Merlin,” the old physician said. “You are a perfectly capable leader.”

“I appreciate your faith in me,” Merlin said, his smile tired. “But I fear it is misplaced.”

“You know, I’ve always found it interesting that you have so much faith in Arthur’s capacity for leadership and so little in your own,” Gaius observed. “You are already a leader among magic folk.”

“Arthur said as much,” Merlin acknowledged. “But it’s not the same. I’m not actually responsible for their wellbeing.”

“You are a highly respected figure among the druids. They often turn to you for guidance and support. The Catha and their associates do the same, as do many others. Perhaps you do not lead them as a king, but you are a leader.”

“I don’t inspire people,” Merlin insisted. “Emrys does, sure, but not Merlin. And Merlin is who I am to Camelot’s court.”

“The druids may put most of their faith in Emrys, but remember that Alator had never heard of Emrys until Morgana went in search of his services. And I don’t know where you get this nonsense that you don’t inspire people. You inspired an entire organization of renowned torturers to renounce their previous path and pledge to serve and protect their people. You managed to give Alator and the Catha as well as many others an invaluable gift.”

“What?”

“You gave them hope.”

Merlin fell silent, staring into the flames crackling away in the hearth. He hadn’t given Alator hope. He hadn’t done anything. All he’d been trying to do was rescue his mentor. Merlin said as much to Gaius.

“Merlin, do you really want to know what I think?” Merlin gestured for him to continue. “You are absolutely right in that you did nothing special to gain Alator’s loyalty. You just did what you knew was right and acted like yourself. I know you’ve done many things over the course of your life that you regret, but at heart you are kind and good. You selflessly put others before you and you strive for fairness and equality. Those are the things that drew Alator and so many others to you and gave them hope. And those are the things that will make you a good leader to Camelot’s people. Have a bit more faith in yourself, my boy.”

Merlin smiled, albeit small and a bit weak. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, if you have a moment to spare I wouldn’t mind some help sorting these herbs. Lyanna gathered them for me and while her heart is in the right place the poor girl has a lot to learn yet.” Merlin chuckled. Lyanna was Gaius’s new assistant. She was enthusiastic about her job, but she did have a tendency to daydream. Her sincerity kept Gaius from replacing her and Merlin sometimes reminded his mentor that there had been a time when he had been unwilling to sit still for one of Gaius’s lectures and now look at him.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

-

“We should set up camp here for the night,” Bedivere said. They’d reached the base of the mountain, but it would only be another hour or so before the sun set. There was no way Arthur was leading his men through a snow covered mountain in the dark.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Lamorak, take Kay and collect some firewood.” While the two knights went off into the woods the rest of them began setting up camp. There was little chatter in the shadow of the mountain. Arthur looked back the way they’d come. It had been two days since they’d last seen the group that had been following them. By all means it looked as if they’d finally lost them, but Arthur couldn’t shake the cold chill down his spine that he’d been feeling since Lamorak first noticed them.

By the time Arthur registered that their camp was under attack Bors was already down and it was clear that they were outnumbered. It was the same group that had been following them since Deira, but that was all Arthur had time to think about before he was swept up in the battle. The fight was brutal. Even so, Arthur had faith in his men. The knights of Camelot weren’t known as the greatest in the land for nothing.

But the tide of the battle, until then even, soon turned. Arthur watched as his knights fell around him and knew it would only be a matter of time before he joined them. Still, he was a Pendragon, and a Pendragon would go down fighting to his last breath. He despaired that on this one chance he had to play hero to his love he had failed and that failure would also bring about the end of his kingdom and every other in the land. Finally, a sword snuck past his defenses, sliding through the soft flesh of his stomach. Excalibur fell from his hand and he saw someone retrieve it as he too began to fall, backwards.

“The ring!” someone yelled. A hand lashed out, snagging the cord around his neck. A hard yank and the momentum of his fall snapped it. He went down, barely registering that instead of hitting the ground he went tumbling through the air. They must have pushed him back towards a cliff to corner him. He hadn’t even noticed. He hit the ground a short ways down, the snow cushioning his fall.

“Think he’s still alive down there?” a voice asked.

“Wasn’t that far a fall,” another one answered. “Should we go down a check?”

A third voice snorted. “You’re welcome to. I, for one, have no intention of being caught out here in the night, not when there’s a warm inn waiting elsewhere.”

“No inn tonight,” a fourth voice said. “The king’s instructions were clear. Retrieve the sword and the ring and return to Essetir with all haste.” Essetir. Arthur clung to that thought as the men, as Lot’s men left. Lot had sent assassins to kill him. Did that mean he would make a move against Camelot? But his thoughts were scattering, seeping away from him with his blood into the cold snow.

-

As had become their habit, Leon, Gwen, and Merlin convened in the royal chambers for a shared dinner. As soon as the meal was laid out, Merlin dismissed George.

“Council could have gone better today,” Merlin muttered, leaning back in his chair. He forewent his food in favor of picking up his wine and taking a sip. It was hard to resist the urge to down it and immediately pour himself another. Only the knowledge that he would make even less sound decisions drunk than he did while sober kept him from it.

“Just be more assertive,” Leon advised. “It’s like a rider and his horse. They can sense your uncertainty.”

“That’s my metaphor,” Gwen spoke up. It was impossible to miss the secretive little smile they shared. Merlin rolled his eyes. If they weren’t here to discuss important matters of state he would tell them that they should stop dithering about and get married immediately. As it was, he didn’t want to derail the conversation before it had even started.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Merlin insisted.

“That’s not true,” Gwen disagreed immediately. “You’re just letting nerves get the best of you. Leon is right, you should be more assertive. Especially where Lord Alington is concerned.”

Merlin didn’t want to be assertive, he didn’t want to deal with Lord Alington, he didn’t want to rule Arthur’s bloody kingdom. He wanted to go back to his books and his magic and his healing and not have to deal with a bunch of nobles who were skeptical of a former serving boy from a remote farming village having any capacity to rule. He was trying, as Gaius had said, to have more faith in himself, but it was hard.

“Arthur said he would send word by carrier pigeon when they reached the north,” Merlin said, desperate to change the subject.

“We haven’t received anything,” Leon reported. “But there’s no need for concern yet. Any number of minor delays could have set them behind schedule.”

“Right.” Merlin took another sip of his wine and deliberated bringing up the bad feeling he kept having. But that’s all it was, a bad feeling. It had no substance. Besides, there was every possibility that the bad feeling was just another symptom of the poisoned ley lines. No, nobody needed to be troubled with his bad feelings right now. “I’m so tired of this. I just want to sleep for a month.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Gwen said. She watched him for a moment. “How are you holding up?”

Merlin frowned. “How do you mean?”

“I mean how do you feel?” Gwen clarified.

“Fine.” Merlin shrugged. “I mean obviously I’ve felt better, but all things considered I feel fine.”

“Why don’t you take an early night?” Leon suggested. Merlin was certain he was supposed to say no and come up with something else that needed to be done, but instead he just nodded.

-

Merlin hated council. If this was what he’d been missing in the months since he’d made an effort to attend it then he was almost glad for it. His gaze drifted around the table, taking in the exasperated looks on those Arthur had handpicked for his council himself. Gwen looked like she was seriously considering just getting up and leaving. Leon’s hand twitched like he was about to reach for his sword before reminding himself that cutting off a council member’s head for being long winded would actually be against the law. Not that Merlin would do anything to stop him, should he decide it was necessary. Gwaine wasn’t even paying attention. He had a stack of parchment in front of him where he was doodling and if the way Percival was straining to withhold his laughter was any indication the doodles were wildly inappropriate.

That was something Merlin had noticed over the course of his regency. The council was very divided and the split was always between the older council members left over from Uther’s reign and the ones brought in during Arthur’s. Merlin knew there were delicate politics involved here. Kicking the wrong person off the council could result in losing their loyalty and their land. But gods, Merlin was too tired to care about politics.

“Is there a point somewhere in there or are you just wasting our time?”

The room went dead silent. Even Gwaine’s attention was drawn back to the meeting. All eyes were on Merlin where he sat in Arthur’s chair, his own currently occupied by Galahad. The council member, Lord Camberwick, blinked and turned to Merlin slowly.

“My lord?” he uttered after a moment.

Merlin stood, drawing himself up to his full height and trying for an imitation of that imperious stare Arthur had, the one that was so good at shutting people up. “I said, is there a point somewhere in there or are you just wasting our time?” Lord Camberwick just blinked again. “Well?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my lord,” Lord Camberwick tried.

“Neither do I,” Merlin said. “I asked for a simple report on how current taxes are affecting the outer regions of Camelot, especially with the bandits that ran amok a few months back. I don’t know what you’ve been blathering on about, but it certainly isn’t taxes.”

“If you’ll beg my pardon, my lord,” said Lord DeGrey, standing as well. “Perhaps the matters of taxes are a bit beyond your experience.” Lord DeGrey shrunk back in his seat a moment later as the eyes of at least half the council turned to him.

“Right,” Merlin said, infusing his voice with all the sarcasm he could muster, “because as someone who has had to pay taxes in two separate kingdoms I obviously can’t have any idea how they work, especially when it comes to remote villages in outer regions, like the one I grew up in.” Someone snorted. Merlin thought it was Elyan. He turned to Lord Camberwick. “Perhaps, Lord Camberwick, the matters of taxes are a bit beyond _your_ experience. Sir Percival.”

Percival stood quickly. “My lord?”

“Can I trust you to investigate the taxes in our outer regions and give me a report that won’t make half the council want to cut their own ears off?”

Percival had to struggle not to laugh. “You can, sire.” He inclined his head in acceptance of the task and sat back down.

“Good.” Merlin lowered himself into his chair, trying not to make it look like he was on the verge of faceplanting onto the table from exhaustion. “Now, does anyone else have any matters they wish to bring to the council’s attention at this time?” No one spoke. “Then council is dismissed.” The council members of Uther’s time couldn’t leave the room fast enough. He waited until the rest of the council had left as well, save for Galahad, before slumping down in his seat. After a moment he sensed eyes on him and looked over to see Galahad smiling at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Galahad said quickly. Then, “I think you should conduct all council sessions in that fashion.”

“What, by insulting a lord who probably has land that Camelot can’t afford to lose? Yes, I’m sure the king would appreciate returning to that.”

“I don’t think he would mind so much.”

Merlin shrugged. He considered the merit of sleeping on the round table and decided it would be very uncomfortable. He would rather trek up to his bed. Besides, if he dozed off against a wall or something then he could just have Galahad carry him the rest of the way.

“Do you happen to know where George is?” Merlin asked as he got to his feet. “Last I saw him he was off to do the laundry, but I wasn’t paying terribly close attention.”

“I believe I heard him mention something about your chambers being in need of a thorough cleaning,” Galahad said.

“Ah yes, I remember something about that.” Merlin shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder why Arthur even bothered having separate rooms set aside. I hardly use them. They’re more like storage, really.” Even now, with Arthur far from Camelot, Merlin preferred the king’s chambers to his own. It was so much more familiar. Arthur hadn’t moved rooms after his father’s death and so the current royal chambers were the same ones that Merlin had spent so much time in since first coming to Camelot. There was so much history, so many memories. It was there that Arthur had kissed him for the first time, drunk but not too drunk on honeyed mead during a winter storm. Every time he walked through the door Merlin could remember bending down in front of the fireplace to light it, scrubbing the floors, searching through the wardrobe for appropriate clothes for the day, laying out and cleaning up meals that he sometimes ate part of himself. His new chambers, just down the hall because the actual king’s chambers with the attached rooms for a consort were elsewhere, were nice, but they weren’t home in the same way Arthur’s were. They didn’t even store many of his clothes anymore, most of them having migrated to Arthur’s wardrobe when George got tired of having to run down the hall to fetch Merlin a change of clothes every day.

Merlin left Galahad outside the door and was glad to see that George hadn’t yet found his way back to the king’s chambers. He tried to tell himself he should do something important. But the bed was calling to him, with it’s freshly made sheets and fluffed pillows and plush mattress. It wasn’t as if he could be productive when he was tired anyway. A nap was really the best course of action.

-

When Leon and Gwen arrived for the evening meeting Merlin was sitting by the fire, staring blankly down at his hands. It seemed beyond ridiculous that he could ever forget that his magic was currently out of his reach and yet that was exactly what he’d just done. The spell wasn’t difficult. All it did was fan the fire a bit. Merlin used it all the time when he couldn’t be bothered to put another log on the fire and didn’t want to ask George to do it, not when he had a simple solution.

“Merlin?” Gwen was standing next to the thick fur rug, looking down at him with a concerned frown. Merlin got up slowly.

“Sorry,” he said, going to sit at the table. “Shall we get started?” As if on cue, George chose that moment to enter bearing dinner. Merlin waited until he’d laid it all out before addressing him. “George, could you build up the fire a bit?”

“Of course, sire.”

“It’s sweltering in here,” Leon pointed out.

“Is it?” Merlin said absently. “I hadn’t noticed.” He tended to feel cold these days. Which, when he thought about it, was a bit odd at this time of year. Another symptom of his dying magic, no doubt. Leon and Gwen exchanged a look, but left it alone, instead bringing up the topic they were all thinking about these days.

“I’m worried,” Gwen said. “It’s three more days until the two week mark and we still haven’t heard anything from Arthur. Something must have happened.”

“A storm, perhaps?” Leon suggested, though he didn’t sound confident in his own suggestion. “I’ve heard they can be quite violent up north, especially in the mountains.”

“We should send a search party,” Gwen said.

“That’s impractical,” Leon pointed out. “It’s at least a week’s journey to the mountain with the sacred pool.”

Gwen turned to the head of the table. “Merlin? What do you think?”

Merlin sighed. “I have to agree with Leon,” he said. “We know too little about the land that far north. There are stories and rumors, but I’m not willing to bet the lives of an entire patrol on just stories and rumors.”

“It could be that Arthur simply hasn’t had the opportunity to send a message,” Leon said.

“But it is troubling,” Gwen insisted.

“It is,” Merlin agreed. “However our options are limited. It seems to me it would be best to hold off on making any hasty decisions for now. We’ll send word to the border patrols to keep a special eye out, but nothing more for now. If there’s no sign of Arthur’s return in three days then we’ll revisit the matter.” They moved on to other topics. The candles were starting to burn low by the time Leon took his leave. Merlin thought Gwen had gone with him until he heard the swish of her dress as she quietly rose from her chair and came to stand beside his.

“You never seem to have any trouble sharing your thoughts in private,” Gwen said. “I don’t know why you’re so hesitant to speak up at council.”

“You’re my friends,” Merlin said in reply. “I already know you’ll listen to me.”

“The council would listen too, if you wanted.”

Merlin leaned back in his chair and let his eyes fall shut. “Gwen, I’m really far too tired to discuss this right now.” He heard Gwen sign. After a moment he felt a cool hand on his forehead.

“You feel a bit warm,” Gwen told him. Merlin could hear the concerned frown in her voice. “Do you have a fever?”

“Not quite,” Merlin said. “Verging on one, I guess. It comes and goes, like all the other symptoms. Don’t worry about it.” Gwen’s hand moved to run soothingly through his hair.

“You should get some rest,” she said softly.

-

Three days later there was still no sign of Arthur’s return. After a morning council session Merlin gestured for Leon to remain while the rest of the council members left.

“I don’t suppose you have any good news for me?” Merlin asked.

“Still no word from the king,” Leon reported. “We know the basic route he took. Should a search party be sent to trace his steps?” Merlin grimaced, hesitating. The journey was a long one.

“How would they stay in touch?” he asked. “I want at least some way of knowing if we’ve lost track of them as well, otherwise what use is it?”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Leon said and left. Merlin briefly entertained the thought of spending the rest of the day lying in bed, but then Percival poked his head in to remind him he had petitions to hear.

By evening the search party had left Camelot, promising that they would send word at least once every day. If a day passed and they didn’t receive a message well then...Merlin didn’t know what they’d do. They could hardly just keep sending out search parties. That would just deplete the strength of their army and make them even more vulnerable than they already were.

Gwen was waiting for him in his chambers. She waved Galahad off at the door and beckoned for Merlin to join her at the table where dinner was already laid out.

“Where’s George?” Merlin asked as he sat.

Gwen shrugged. “Around. I thought you’d appreciate a break from him. He does like to hover.”

Merlin hummed in agreement as he sat. “I’m convinced that’s Arthur’s doing.”

Their meal was peaceful, almost relaxing. Merlin felt some of the tension of the day, hell of the past two weeks, drain out of him. This was comfortable, easy, familiar. Gwen caught him up on the castle gossip and Merlin was reminded of the days when they’d been servants. They used to find time to meet, even if it was late in the evening, to exchange gossip. When he’d first come to Camelot it had been the highlight of Merlin’s day. He fell silent then, reflecting on all the ways his life had changed since the day of his wedding.

“Sometimes I think Arthur made a poor choice in marrying me,” Merlin said.

“I think Arthur is a thick headed fool who has failed to recognize the consequences of his actions,” Gwen countered. “And I think you need to realize that you will never be the leader those stuffy old codgers who take up space at the round table think you should be.” Merlin frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

Gwen’s smile was kind. “Yes, I’m aware,” she said. “Which is why I’ll keep saying it until you do. You’re not a noble, Merlin. But you don’t have to be. You keep trying to be the sort of leader that you think the rest of the kingdom would expect someone of noble blood to be and you keep falling short. You’ll always fall short.”

“I fail to see how this is supposed to be encouraging,” Merlin cut in, sullen. “I’m aware I’m not a noble and I’m aware that ruling a kingdom is beyond me.”

“When did I say that?” Gwen asked. “That’s not what I said. I said you can’t be the kind of leader that someone of noble blood would be expected to be. But that’s not the sort of person Arthur wants for a consort anyway.”

Merlin tried to laugh, but it fell short. “He doesn’t seem to want me either.”

“That’s a separate, though not entirely unrelated issue,” Gwen said, waving a dismissive hand. “Nobody can deny that Arthur hasn’t exactly given you the support you need to grow in this role. But that doesn’t mean you’re incapable. As I said, as I will keep saying until it gets through your head, you expect the wrong things of yourself.” She gave him an evaluating once over. “I think you always have.” Merlin looked away.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly.

“Have you tried asking Arthur?”

“He just tells me not to worry about it. And if I press the issue we just end up arguing.”

They fell silent for a while after that.

“I see glimpses of it, you know,” Gwen said. “Of the brilliant leader I know you to be. When you’re too tired and frustrated to care about trying to appear like a proper prince and you don’t put up with the political bollocks. That’s the real Merlin, the one the knights follow with the same loyalty as Arthur, the one the people support. The Merlin Arthur fell in love with. The Merlin who I consider to be my closest friend.”

“Maybe that Merlin’s just a lie,” he said quietly. “Maybe that was just a mask I was good at wearing. Maybe I really am an idiot.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

Merlin shrugged. “Not that last part. But the rest of it...Gwen, I’ve spent my entire life pretending to be someone I’m not. How am I supposed to know who I really am?”

“I know who you are,” she insisted. But Merlin shook his head.

“You can’t possible know that.”

Gwen let it go and another silence fell over them. She was still watching him though, evaluating, thinking. Merlin stood and went to the window, staring out over the courtyard bathed in the orange glow of evening. He was coming to a conclusion about himself that he didn’t entirely like and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. For the first sixteen years of his life his magic had had no purpose. It had been a thing that he didn’t understand and yet was unarguably a part of him. A part of him that was supposed to be suppressed and hidden. Merlin understood very well, especially now that he was older, that it had been for his protection. His mother had tried to be positive about it, calling his magic a gift even as she scolded him for using it. But to have power of that magnitude and nothing to do with it, to be told that other would hurt him for it...Merlin had come to Camelot thinking of himself as a monster.

And then Kilgharrah had told him about destiny. After spending his entire life up until that point thinking that his magic was a curse, to have a purpose to direct it towards was incredible. His magic wasn’t a curse, it was a gift meant to be used to support and protect Arthur as he brought Camelot and all those around her into the golden age of Albion. The incident at the feast with the vengeful witch had only seemed to prove it and Gaius had been happy to point him towards a more constructive outlet for his magic than pranks and troublemaking.

But that was Emrys. Emrys was the powerful sorcerer with a grand destiny revolving around the Once and Future King. Merlin though...Merlin was a boy from a little farming village in a valley in Essetir. Merlin didn’t fight armies in grand battles, he used his magic to pick apples from the highest point of the tree because Will was too lazy to climb up and get them himself. There was overlap. Merlin didn’t necessarily think of Emrys as a separate entity, though he sort of had at one point, back before he could ever fathom being someone that was spoken off in prophecy. He’d thought he had it all figured out. Now though he wasn’t so sure.

-

Leon’s face was grim as he entered the royal chambers. Despite that, the first question out of Merlin’s mouth was still, “Any news from the search party?”

“None, my lord.” Leon looked and sounded regretful. “Their last message was more of the same.” Confirmation that they were alive and still searching for their king and fellow knights, but nothing to report. Leon hesitated. “Do you think it is time to ask our allies for aid?”

“I don’t think we have much choice.” Merlin sighed. “Send a message to Annis.” He hesitated. “And Bayard. And increase patrols along our border with Essetir.”

Leon’s frown deepened. “You think Lot is planning to attack?”

“You think he isn’t? My magic is useless and Arthur is...away. He could hardly ask for a better opportunity.”

“Fair point,” the knight conceded. “I will arrange it immediately.” Leon bowed and left him alone. The door had barely closed when it swung open again, Gwen poking her head inside.

“Come in, Gwen,” Merlin called. She shut the door carefully behind her and came to take a seat beside her friend.

“I take it there’s been no news,” she said. Merlin’s only response was to heave a ponderous sigh. Gwen reached out, taking his hand in a comforting grip. “Maybe one of the horses was injured or they ran into some bandits. Just because something’s happened, doesn’t mean it was something horrible.” Her words were hollow to Merlin’s ears, a poor attempt at keeping hope. He snorted.

“They should have returned two days ago. Or at least sent word by now. Yet we’ve heard nothing from their party.”

Gwen squeezed his hand. “We’ll find them. We’ll find Arthur.” A frown creased her brow and she set her hand on Merlin’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Merlin hedged. In truth, he felt like keeling over right out of the chair, but it wasn’t yet evening and there was still so much to do. He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak. Or at least, weaker than he already was.

“Get some rest,” Gwen said. When Merlin tried to protest she spoke over him, “I will come wake you myself if I need you, alright?”

“Alright,” Merlin grudgingly agreed and let Gwen usher him over to his bed. It felt good to slump bonelessly onto his pillows, curled up under warm fur blankets. He was already drifting off to sleep when Gwen left, stopping only to exchange a few quiet words with Galahad at the door. It wasn’t long before sleep took him completely.

-

“How’s Merlin holding up?” Gwaine asked the moment the door shut. Gwen grimaced and made a gesture that was neither here nor there on the helpfulness scale.

“He’s doing alright,” she said. “He just feels out of his depth and he’s worried.”

Most would see a secret meeting of knights and a courtier as potential treason in the planning and they wouldn’t normally be wrong. But in this case, it was nothing of the sort. The original knights of the round table and Gwen gathered in an out of the way room not to plot the downfall of their friend, but to put their collective intellect together to come up with ways to help him keep the fragile hold he seemed to have on his confidence these days.

“Do you think it would be this bad if he had his magic?” Elyan asked.

“No,” Gwen answered immediately. “But that isn’t entirely the issue either. You know how protective Arthur’s been since they married.” There were murmured agreements all around the room.

“His good intentions have backfired on him,” Percival said. More agreement. There was little they could do about it now. The damage was done. Perhaps they could convince Arthur to actually communicate properly with his husband and undo the unintentional damage he’d done, if only he were here and not lost somewhere in the north.

“We just have to keep supporting him in anyway we can,” Leon said.

“Right, what are the latest orders?” Gwaine’s switch of topic had backs straightening all around the room in preparation for serious discussion.

“We’re increasing patrols along our border with Essetir,” Leon reported. “Merlin is concerned- and I agree- that Lot may try to take advantage of Camelot’s current situation to attack. As well, we’re sending a few covert messages to allies.”

“To help with the search?” Elyan guessed.

“Yes. We need trusted messengers to ride to Gwynedd and Mercia.” The last one gave the other knights pause.

“Mercia?” Gwaine repeated. “I did hear that right didn’t I? I mean I know Bayard has been an ally for years now, but are we sure we can trust him with this?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Percival pointed out. “And besides, Bayard is fond of Merlin.” A constant source of amusement, in Gwen’s opinion, considering Merlin’s first interaction with Bayard had been when he was a servant accusing the visiting lord of attempting to poison Camelot’s crown prince.

“Yes, but-“

“But nothing,” Gwen cut in. “Merlin wouldn’t ask for Bayard’s help if he thought Bayard would just take advantage. Besides, Percival is right. Bayard has great admiration for Merlin. Not to mention the trade agreements we have with Mercia are highly beneficial to him. While he wouldn’t be my first choice, Mercia is to the north and my understanding is that Arthur’s route took him through there. It’s a sound decision.” She may have been a bit more vehement than was necessary, but Gwen was feeling sensitive to criticisms of Merlin’s decisions these days. It was hard enough having to sit through council and listen to council members arguing with Merlin at every turn, knowing her friend was exhausted and worried and not anywhere near his best. She didn’t want to hear it from the people who were supposed to be Merlin’s most loyal supporters, particularly when it came to a decision she knew to be a good one, one she would have made herself, were she in Merlin’s position.

“Right,” Gwaine said, ducking his head for a moment in shame. “So. Messages to Annis and Bayard and increased patrols. Who wants what?”

“I will be in charge of delegating assignments Gwaine,” Leon said, rolling his eyes. “I will personally see to the matter of the messages. Elyan will deal with increasing patrols along our border. And I want you two-” He pointed to Gwaine and Percival “-to do an assessment of our defenses. There’s a chance nothing will happen, but I would rather we be over prepared.” The other three knights departed immediately, but Leon lingered in the room. He looked tired, but Gwen was sure they all looked tired these days. Gently, she drew him over to a chair.

“Sit for a moment,” she said.

“I need to attend to-”

“A moment of rest won’t result in the downfall of the kingdom,” Gwen insisted. Leon slumped in the chair. Gwen began to massage his shoulders, feeling the anxious knots in his muscles. “What do you think Lot’s chances of invading are?” she asked after a few moments of quiet. Leon roused himself from where he’d almost dozed off.

“It’s more of a given at this point,” he said. “One of our strongest deterrents against invasion before was Merlin’s magic. After word spread of how he defeated Morgana and her army at Camlann there weren’t many who wanted to chance going against him. The other was Arthur, who is well known to be a strong military leader.”

“At least Lot is the only one we have to worry about,” Gwen said. “The rest are either allies or neutral parties.”

“There is that,” Leon agreed. Even Odin was developing kinder feelings towards Camelot these days. And what a relief that was not to have to worry about him sending assassins into Camelot at all hours of the day.

Leon stayed for a few minutes longer before pushing himself out of the chair. “The sooner the messages are sent, the better,” he said. He leaned in and pecked Gwen on the cheek. “What’s Merlin doing right now?”

“Resting,” Gwen reported.

“Good, he looked like he needed it. Join me for dinner tonight?”

Gwen smiled. “I would love to.”

-

The fields were dying. Merlin stood amidst what had once been endless waves of tall wheat and watched as it crumbled into dust. He watched lakes and streams and rivers and even the sea dry up. Beneath his feet the ground felt unsteady, but perhaps that was just the profound sense of wrong in his gut. He tried to reach out with his magic but it wouldn’t come to him, even when he ripped the charm from his wrist. A terrible sense of foreboding washed over him. In the distance he could see the land darkening. Camelot, he remembered. He should return to Camelot.

Empty streets greeted him. Homes and businesses collapsed under the weight of rotting wood. Merlin went up to one and opened the door. He caught sight of the unmoving bodies of the inhabitants just before the roof fell in. Panic setting in he turned to the citadel where it normally stood tall and proud at the city’s center. Now it faded, decayed. Merlin started to run towards it, but he’d barely taken a few steps when the world around him began to fragment. It seemed like the very fabric of the world was tearing apart, being ripped out from under him. He tumbled into an abyss.

Merlin woke with a cry that brought Galahad running.

“My lord!” The knight rushed to his bedside. “My lord, what is it? Are you alright?”

“Just a dream,” Merlin said faintly, forcing himself to calm down. That was all it had been, a dream. An ominous, horrible dream that had felt so real, so vivid, like Morgana had once described her visions-

“Should I fetch the physician?” Galahad asked.

“No, there’s no need to bother Gaius,” Merlin assured him. He forced a smile. “I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” Galahad looked skeptical, but he nodded and left to take up his post outside the door again. Merlin slumped against his pillows for only a moment before getting out of bed. He felt at once exhausted and restless. For the rest of the night he paced, only managing to fall asleep once the light of dawn was creeping into the sky. It was an unsettled sleep though, easily disturbed when George delivered breakfast.

The rest of the day didn’t go much better. It was even more of a struggle than usual to sit through council and hear petitions and all the other duties expected of a monarch. Merlin was certain he only made it through the day because Gwen was almost constantly at his side. She had a real knack for handling court life. Sometimes Merlin wondered if she wouldn’t have made a better consort for Arthur, whatever their feelings for each other. Tired as he was, he found himself voicing these thoughts as afternoon passed into evening and the two of them retired to the royal chambers.

“You are much more capable than you think, Merlin,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “Now tell me, what’s been troubling you all day? I can tell you didn’t sleep well last night and you’ve been distracted.”

“It was just a bad dream,” Merlin said dismissively.

Gwen didn’t believe him. “I spoke with Sir Galahad,” she told him.

Merlin sighed. “Of course you did.”

“He said you woke screaming in the middle of the night.”

“I told you, it was a bad dream. It frightened me, but it was just a dream.”

“You’re sure it was nothing more?”

“Gwen-”

“I was there, Merlin,” she quickly continued. “All those nights when Morgana woke terrified from her visions.” Merlin closed his eyes, because what Gwen was implying was what he had been trying not to think about all day. That his horrible dream could be a vision from the future was unpleasant to consider.

“I’m not a seer, Gwen,” Merlin said, instead of the outright denial he wanted to express. “The only visions I have ever had were when I looked into the crystals.”

“I still don’t think you should dismiss the possibility. Whatever your dream was about, it may be trying to tell you something.”

“Maybe,” Merlin agreed. Gwen let the subject drop after that. They chatted for a bit longer, about mindless things like herbs and how Elyan’s apprentice was getting on at the forge now that he was mostly left unsupervised. Eventually, she took her leave, pausing only to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

Collapsing onto his bed was an appealing option for how to spend the rest of his evening. His poor sleep the previous night was compounding the normal exhaustion he felt from the poisoning of his magic. Drinking himself stupid was also quite appealing. Then he wouldn’t have to think about the dream or the kingdom or how they still had no idea where Arthur was or what had happened to him. Merlin decided to do neither of those things. Instead, he donned a cloak against the evening chill and quietly snuck out the servants’ entrance. He should bring Galahad with him, but he wanted to have this conversation alone.

Merlin knew all the secret passages and back alleys of Camelot like the back of his hand, from his days as a servant when he used to sneak around trying to covertly prevent assassinations and other plots. He walked with purpose, so that even if someone did recognize their prince consort walking among them in the darkening evening they would be reluctant to distract him from his purpose. The shadows were used to his advantage to hide him whenever possible. At last, Merlin left the walls of Camelot behind. He didn’t go as deep into the woods as he wanted, only far enough to know he wouldn’t be disturbed. Then he tilted his head back and roared to the sky.

As he waited, he sat in the grass and took a moment to just be. He missed this. This being spending time on his own. Since marrying Arthur there was always someone there. Servants, knights, advisors. There was little, if any opportunity to be completely on his own, not like when he had still been a servant and physician’s apprentice. Then nobody had batted an eye when he’d left the city behind to spend a few hours in the woods, gathering herbs and playing around with magic. Now if he wanted to do such things he had to take a small entourage of knights along.

Merlin let his hands skim aimlessly over the grass. He longed to let his magic loose, to let it seep into the ground and the air and permeate the world around him until he and the earth were one and the same. But he couldn’t. Not as he was. All he could do was sit and wait until he heard the soft swoosh of wings approaching and saw the dark shape of a dragon in the night sky. Kilgharrah landed with a graceless thump.

“You feel it too,” Merlin said.

“Not as keenly as you, Emrys,” the dragon answered. “But then you are connected to the Earth in ways the rest of us can only dream of. Now what has brought you out here tonight?”

Merlin was silent for a long moment. “I had a vision last night,” he said quietly, because he could deny it all he wanted, but Gwen was right. This had been no ordinary dream. Kilgharrah’s eyes widened with his surprise.

“You are certain it was a vision?”

“It felt like gazing into the crystals.”

“This is grave news indeed,” Kilgharrah observed. “For a vision to come to you the future must be dire.”

“I saw the land dying,” Merlin said, lost in the dark images that had trapped him last night. “I saw the fields wilt and all the water dried up.” He searched for the words to describe what he’d seen, but they eluded him. A shiver raced up his spine and he drew his cloak more tightly around himself. Kilgharrah lowered his great head to bump his nose against Merlin’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“The future of Albion is in great danger,” Kilgharrah solemnly declared. “Unless the ley lines are healed the poison will continue to spread throughout the land, bringing death and destruction.” Merlin sighed. “You were hoping for something more optimistic?”

“Foolish, I know,” Merlin replied. He stroked his hand over Kilgharrah’s scales. “We’ll just have to rely on Arthur to fix it.”

“You don’t sound so confident in your king, young warlock.” Kilgharrah sounded amused.

“I think I’m just not used to feeling useless,” Merlin admitted. “I feel like I should have gone with him, but I would only have slowed them down. I do trust Arthur, though. He’ll do everything in his power to fix this.” He leaned against Kilgharrah, taking comfort from his presence. Other than his mother, Kilgharrah was the only family he had left, the last connection to the father he’d never had the chance to know and a heritage that was all but lost. Merlin wanted to stay there the whole night, but eventually he drew back.

“I must return to the citadel. Galahad’s probably noticed I’m gone by now.” He looked Kilgharrah over with a critical eye. “You’ll be alright?”

“I will endure,” Kilgharrah answered, as if the threat of the end of the world was nothing more than an inconvenience. Merlin knew otherwise, but he also knew that Kilgharrah had his pride and left it to him.

“And you’ll keep an eye on Aithusa?” Merlin would likely never forgive himself for what his dragonling had suffered at the hands of the Sarrum, and neither would Kilgharrah. She had been theirs to care for and they had failed her spectacularly.

“Of course,” Kilgharrah agreed. He bowed his head respectfully, then sprang into the air. Merlin watched him until he was out of sight, worry furrowing his brow. Kilgharrah was old. Hopefully this latest travesty wouldn’t prove too much for him. Only when Kilgharrah was no longer even a speck in the sky did Merlin turn away and head back into the city.

-

Galahad had indeed noticed Merlin’s absence.

“You shouldn’t just wander off like that!” he hissed the moment they set foot in Merlin’s chambers again. The knight looked stricken. “Your majesty,” he hastened to added. Merlin snorted.

“I’d think you would know my feelings on formalities by now,” he said, draping his cloak over a chair and going to sit by the fire. Galahad floundered.

“It’s just-“ The knight deflated. “I swore an oath to the king that I would protect you with my life and I can’t do that when I don’t know where you are.” He looked miserable and Merlin felt a measure of guilt.

“My sincerest apologies,” Merlin said. “I had something of great importance to discuss with a friend, but I will not do it again.” Galahad looked torn between inquiring about this friend and just being relieved at the promise. George bustled in at that moment with a late dinner, which he set on the table before going about cleaning. In truth, Merlin didn’t have much of an appetite, not with his vision weighing heavily on his mind. He ate anyway. Even George would fret if he started ignoring his meals.

The vision frightened him. Merlin was not a seer. He did not get visions. He could gaze into the crystals of the Cave and glimpse the future, but visions in his sleep should have been impossible. Kilgharrah had said it was a sign of terrible things to come, things that must be stopped, if the Old Religion had sent Merlin a vision. Merlin believed him. He picked at his food, nibbling at the bread, eating a few grapes, and ignoring the concern with which Galahad was watching him. When George finally left Merlin set his plate aside.

“You should eat,” Galahad tried.

“You eat it,” Merlin snapped, irritable. There were more important things than a couple of gods damned grapes.

“...Is that an order?”

Merlin looked over at the knight with a raised eyebrow. “If you want it to be. Are you hungry?”

“Not really, no,” Galahad said quickly. Really, he was always trying to be so proper. In moments like these especially he reminded Merlin ever so much of Lancelot. Noble, kind, and brave. Perhaps too noble. Could one be too noble? Yes, Merlin decided, recalling his last conversation with his husband. Some people definitely possessed an overabundance of that trait. And some just enough to get by, Merlin thought, thinking fondly of Gwaine.

“You can have as much as you like,” Merlin said. “George always brings far too much anyway.” Galahad hesitantly took a piece of bread.

“You really should eat more, my lord,” he said after a few bites.

Merlin sighed. “I should, but I have no appetite these days.”

“Because you are worried?”

“Yes. Worried for the kingdom, worried for Arthur, worried for many things.” Merlin poured himself a generous amount of wine. He still had no intention of getting drunk, but a bit of wine would perhaps ease his mind for a while.

Something had obviously gone wrong on Arthur’s quest. The trip to the north and back should have taken about two weeks. So far the search party they'd sent out had reported nothing of interest. Merlin had yet to hear any news from the allies he’d chosen to trust. Annis and Bayard had sent messages assuring him that they would make their own careful enquiries and alert him the moment they had anything to report. And meanwhile court life continued on as normal.

“I will retire for the night,” Merlin decided, an hour and a goblet of wine later.

“Shall I send George back in?” Galahad asked.

“No.” Merlin had no desire to deal with George right now. No desire to deal with anyone, really. “Although if you wouldn’t mind handing him the dishes? He can work himself into quite a strop over that sort of thing.”

“Of course.” Galahad bowed, collected the remnants of the meal, and left. Merlin sighed and stood. He wanted this whole nightmare over with. He wanted his magic and his husband back. Merlin crawled into bed that night on the left side, the side Arthur preferred to sleep on. His scent had long faded from the pillows there, but Merlin curled around them anyway, seeking any comfort he could get to ease the loneliness creeping up on him.

-

Something about the day felt off. Merlin could feel it the moment he opened his eyes as George laid out his breakfast and opened the curtains to let in the morning light. He forced himself to pick at the bread and cheese, nibbling on it, but his stomach was all twisted up in knots.

“George,” Merlin said, giving up and pushing his plate away. “Inform Sir Leon I wish to speak with him at his earliest convenience.” George eyed the untouched plate and the corner of his mouth twitched in disapproval, but he left to carry out the request all the same. When he returned a short time later, it was with Leon following behind him, his tunic just the slightest bit in disarray. Merlin dismissed George immediately and gestured for Leon to join him.

“You look troubled,” Leon observed as he sat. “More so than usual.”

“I just have this really unsettled feeling,” Merlin said. He searched for the right words. “A sense of foreboding. How would we fare if Lot were to attack today?” Leon’s grimace was brief and quickly hidden behind a professional mask.

“That would depend on the strength of his attacking army,” the knight said. “We’ve done everything we can to fortify the city, but with great enough numbers it would likely only be a matter of time before we were overwhelmed. We have contingency plans in place, just for such a scenario.” Leon eyed him. “Do you think Lot will attack today?”

Merlin slumped in his seat. “I don’t know. I just...have a bad feeling.”

“I could send out a scout,” Leon offered. “To see how things are going along our border.”

“Do that,” Merlin said. “It never hurts to be cautious.” Leon left immediately to do so. Merlin sat at the table for a while longer, trying to convince himself to eat a bit more of his breakfast. Just the thought of eating was making him feel sick. He hoped he was being overly cautious.

-

He woke gasping from a dream he couldn’t remember, Arthur’s name on his lips. For a moment, Merlin couldn't remember where he was. Then he recognized the shapes in the room, the elaborate desk, the wardrobe, the table over by the fireplace. It calmed him some, to recall he was safely in the royal chambers in Camelot. But then he remembered that Arthur was not. He lay back down with the intention of going back to sleep when the clang of the warning bell echoed through the night. Merlin threw back the covers just as Galahad burst into the room.

“Your majesty!” the knight cried. “The citadel is under attack!” Merlin was already vaulting out of bed.

“Lot?” he guessed, reaching for his boots.

“We can’t be sure, but-”

“It’s probably Lot,” Merlin concluded. “Where is Sir Leon?”

“Last I heard he was in the council chambers,” Galahad reported.

“Then that’s where we’re headed.”

The council chambers were already filled with wounded. Not just soldiers, but women and children too. Townsfolk, servants, merchants. Gaius was there, as was Gwen, working diligently to tend to the injured. Merlin took a steadying breath and reminded himself that it was he who had to step up and take charge here. He sought out Leon, unsurprised to find him at Gwen’s side. Merlin hastened to join them.

“I take it things aren’t going well,” Merlin said.

“Not in the slightest,” Leon replied. “We’re outnumbered and the city is surrounded.”

“Lot?”

“It is his colors and his sigil on the knights I’ve seen.” Leon hesitated. “This battle may already be lost.”

“Maybe,” Merlin conceded. “Do what you can. And keep me informed.”

“Of course.” Leon left quickly.

Merlin turned to Galahad, but before he could even open his mouth the knight said, “I’m staying with you.”

“I expected as much,” Merlin said with a fleeting smile. “I was actually going to ask you how your medical knowledge is.”

“Oh. I know the basics.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind assisting me.” Merlin rolled his sleeves up and turned to Gwen. “Where do you need me most?”

“Are you sure about this Merlin?” Gwen asked. “Gaius and I have the situation in hand-”

“Gwen.” Merlin laid a hand on her shoulder. “What else should I be doing? I doubt I’d be much of an asset in battle right now and I’m not just going to sit around and wait for the knights to bring me news. I’d much rather keep busy.” She nodded, understanding, and directed him to where the most critically wounded were.

The night wore on and the injured kept coming. Through the windows could be seen the light of fires in the lower town and heard the screams of people dying. Merlin focused on his work, cleaning and bandaging wounds, washing burns, and wishing he could use his magic. The charm felt heavy around his wrist, but Merlin didn’t dare remove it. At least as he was now he was conscious. An unconscious ruler wouldn’t do the people much good.

The doors burst open and a fresh batch of wounded came in. Sir Leon set the man he was supporting against a column and beckoned Merlin to the most secluded corner they could find in a room overflowing with people, Galahad following. Gwaine joined them there as well.

“I don’t think we’ll last much longer,” Leon reported. “Lot’s men too greatly outnumber ours. It’s only a matter of time.” The fact that Gwaine wasn’t protesting lent even more weight to Leon’s words. Merlin looked around the council chambers, taking in the wounded. Not just soldiers and knights, but servants and children and people from the lower town. And these were just the ones who had managed to flee to the citadel. How many more were there, lying in the streets, dead or dying? How much of Camelot was painted with the blood of her people? At this rate it didn’t seem Lot had any intention of stopping until they were all dead. Or… Merlin looked back at the knights.

“I can only see one option available to us. We must surrender.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but Merlin couldn’t see another option that wouldn’t end in the complete massacre of every citizen in Camelot.

“Surrender?” Gwaine hissed. “To Lot?”

“It’s the only way to protect the people,” Merlin said.

“But-”

“This is no time for pride, Sir Gwaine. Pride will do us no good when we’re dead.” Gwaine lowered his eyes, just for a moment, in deference. “Leave your weapons. Gwaine, inform the men.” From the corner of his eye Merlin could see people staring at the three knights disarming themselves. He wondered if they realized what that meant and what they thought of it, what they thought of him. I’m sorry Arthur, he thought. Wherever he was, Merlin hoped Arthur would understand. He was trying to think of the people.

With his weapons disposed of, Gwaine bowed, a grand gesture coming from him, before leaving to carry out his task. Merlin turned to Leon and Galahad. “We will go to Lot and attempt to negotiate terms of surrender.”

“Attempt?” Leon repeated.

“I’m not sure there will be much negotiating under the circumstances.” Merlin glanced once more around the hall and saw Gwen eyeing their group as she tended her patients. “Wait here a moment.” He made his way over to where Gaius was rinsing his hands in a basin of cloudy water, gesturing for Gwen to join them. For a moment, Merlin could only stare helplessly at his friends.

“What’s going on?” Gwen finally asked.

“We’re surrendering,” Merlin said. “We’re outnumbered and at this rate Lot won’t stop until he’s slaughtered every last citizen of Camelot. We don’t have a lot of options.”

Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin took a measure of comfort from the gesture. “You’ve made the right decision, my boy,” the old physician said.

“What do you need us to do?” Gwen’s expression was set with determination.

Merlin couldn’t stop the smile that twitched at his lips. Gwen had always been braver and stronger than people gave her credit for. “Just keep tending the wounded,” Merlin said. “If Lot’s knights come, don’t resist.” He received two grave nods. Gwen hesitated a moment, then pulled Merlin into a tight hug.

“I have faith in you,” she whispered.

“Thank you.” Merlin pushed her away gently. His feet seemed glued to the floor for a moment and the charm on his wrist seemed especially heavy. But he turned away. With a tilt of his head he summoned Leon and Galahad to his side. The council chamber doors closed on confused murmurs and curious eyes. As he strode through the corridors of the citadel Merlin didn’t feel the part of a monarch. He felt like the serving boy and physician’s apprentice he used to be, hair a rumpled mess, tunic covered in smears and splotches of dried and drying blood, dark circles under his eyes. Sometimes he wondered how anyone took him for the consort of a king. But prince consort he was and that meant he had a duty to his people, even if that duty meant surrendering. It grated at him, but there was no other choice, not if he wanted to protect Camelot’s citizens.

Lot’s men found them quickly and formed an escort, parading them through halls filled with Camelot soldiers reluctantly laying down their weapons beside the still bodies of their fallen comrades. Merlin found he couldn’t look at any of them, afraid that he would see contempt in their worn and tired faces. He kept his eyes straight ahead, chin held high because if he was going to surrender then by the gods he was going to surrender with dignity. Whether or not he was a leader was debatable, but if there was thing Merlin knew with unwavering certainty it was that he was not a coward.

Lot had already found his way to the throne room and sat, still dressed in his gleaming armor, upon Arthur’s throne. Galahad hissed a few insults under his breath and from the corner of his eye Merlin could see that Leon was clenching his jaw in anger. Had he his magic Merlin wouldn’t have hesitated to rip Lot from Arthur’s throne and hurl him from the citadel, through the wall if he had to. But then, if Merlin had his magic, none of this would even be happening. Lot smirked as he watched them approach, eyes trailing from the knights to perform a more thorough perusal of Merlin that made the his skin crawl.

“You have come to surrender?” Lot asked. The knights bristled.

“If it means you will stop slaughtering innocent people,” Merlin replied. Calm and composed, that was what he had to be. Not angry or frightened or nervous. Calm and composed. As long as he lived he was a symbol of leadership and strength to the people of Camelot, that much he understood. Merlin didn’t want to let them down anymore than he already had. He didn’t want to let Arthur down.

“But of course,” Lot agreed, smile sickly sweet. “After all, I would like there to be something left to rule when the night is through.”

“Arrogant pig,” Galahad spat. “You will never be Camelot’s king!”

“Now, now,” Lot said, “no need to be hostile, Sir Knight. After all, I come bearing news you have no doubt been eagerly awaiting: the fate of your dear king.” Merlin fought to keep his composure, not liking the smirk curling Lot’s lips. The king gestured for someone to move forward and a squire appeared, a sword balanced in his hands. It was a familiar sword, one Merlin had handled many times, had been guardian of until it found its way to its king. Lot picked it up with little care, as if he weren’t keenly aware of the effect the sword’s presence was having on his captives. Galahad lunged forward, but was caught by Lot’s knights. Leon was gripping Merlin’s shoulder so tightly it hurt. And Merlin…Merlin felt like he’d had all the breath knocked out of him. Because the sword Lot was holding up to the light and inspecting with a lazy eye was Excalibur.

“I have been informed that King Arthur’s death was quick, if that is any comfort,” Lot said. He flicked his wrist and the sword went skittering across the floor to rest at Merlin’s feet. Lot reached into his pocket and pulled out another item, small and round. Merlin dreaded to think what it could be. Lot tossed it towards him as well. Each ping of the ring on the hard stone seemed to echo in Merlin’s ears. He knelt and picked it up. The Pendragon sigil stared up at him. For a moment everything else fell away. The knights at his side, Lot on the throne, the entire throne room, all seemed to vanish, washed out of his perception like footprints in the sand eroded by the waves of the ocean. The chord that kept the ring securely around Arthur’s neck had been cut and it frightened Merlin to think of a sword that close to his king.

Then Leon was leaning close to him to whisper, “They could have been stolen. As long as there is no body there is hope.” Merlin pulled himself together. A body. Yes. Leon was right. If Lot really had had Arthur killed why had he not brought back his head? Or any other part of him? A finger or something, anything to signify proof of death. Lot’s men could have stolen Excalibur and the ring in the night or Arthur could have lost hold of them during battle, but their presence in Camelot without the king meant nothing.

Lifting his head to look Lot in the eye Merlin declared, “You’re lying. This is no proof of King Arthur’s death.” Lot’s smirk twisted into a displeased scowl.

“Throw the knights in the dungeon,” he declared, and that he refused to answer Merlin’s claim said much about it. “And escort his highness to his chambers.” Merlin shook off the hands of the enemy knights that reached for him. He would not be lead around like a dog on a leash.


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin was woken the next morning by pounding on the door. For a moment when he opened his eyes to see the sun peaking around the edges of the curtains and heard the soft sounds of George puttering about his chambers he forgot the events of the previous night. But then a guard in the colors of Lot marched into the room and it all came back to him. Last night he had surrendered. Sure, it was in a bid to protect the lives of his people, but that didn’t stop it from leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He sat up leisurely. Echoing in his mind was the clang of Excalibur as it skittered across the stone floor and the ping of Arthur’s ring following it, the one bearing his sigil. He couldn’t fathom a reason for Arthur to part from two of his most prized possessions, barring death. And yet he refused to believe it. Arthur was alive. Merlin could feel it.

“King Lot requests you join him for breakfast,” the guard commanded. Merlin wasn’t fooled. Lot requested nothing and demanded everything. He was an overgrown child, one who happened to have a very large army at his command.

“Then I will join him when I have dressed,” Merlin replied. The guard didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Merlin supposed he’d been told to make sure Merlin attended breakfast, no matter what. He slipped out of bed and behind the changing screen. Already George was draping a fresh tunic and breeches over the top. Merlin noted as he dressed that the tunic was bright Pendragon red and smiled to himself. When he stepped out from behind the changing screen George was almost smirking. And to think, Merlin used to despise this man. As he pulled his boots on he realized that the tunic was actually too big for him. Arthur’s. It was Arthur’s tunic. Bless George, really. Merlin would ensure the man was rewarded when this was all over.

Lot eyed the tunic with distaste as Merlin sat in the chair to his right. Merlin pretended to take no notice. The conquering king attempted small talk. Merlin refused to engage him. He may not have been thrown in a cell with his knights, but he was still a prisoner and he would not pretend otherwise.

“You are very stubborn,” Lot observed when they were halfway through the meal. When Merlin still refused to speak to him he let out a frustrated growl, violently tearing off a chunk of bread to stick in his mouth. If Lot was looking to play mind games he would be in for a surprise. Merlin was rather good at them. Or at least, he had been once. Regardless, Merlin’s weapons were limited and he was willing to use anything at his disposal to fight Lot. Breakfast continued like that until their plates were clean. Then Merlin folded his hands in his lap and stared resolutely ahead, waiting to see what Lot would do next.

“Do know much about the Sarrum of Amata?” Lot asked. Merlin kept his silence and Lot lashed out, grabbing his wrist in a painful grip and nearly yanking Merlin out of his chair. “You will answer me when I ask you a question,” Lot growled. “Do you know much about the Sarrum of Amata?”

“More than I care to,” Merlin said. Lot released him and he sat back in his chair, clutching his arm to his chest.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Lot paused to take a sip from his goblet. “Do you know about the pit the Sarrum used?”

Merlin thought of Aithusa, of Morgana. He remembered feeling sick to his stomach when the Sarrum had bragged about how he’d kept them in that pit for two years, driving Morgana further into madness and crippling Aithusa. “I do.” He had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.

“There wasn’t much to admire about the Sarrum,” Lot said. “But he did have a way with punishment. I’ve already got a spot all picked out. I’m no fool. I know there will be defiance. People who refuse to accept that they have been conquered. That their king is dead and their prince is powerless. I need a deterrent against it. I haven’t entirely decided how to put it to use yet, but I figure we can just experiment for a bit and see what works.”

Merlin closed his eyes and willed himself not to throw up.

-

Arthur’s first thought when he woke was that this most definitely was not his bed in Camelot. Which would make sense, seeing as his last memory wasn’t of being in Camelot. It was of the mountain. But neither was he lying on the hard ground. The mattress was thin and packed with hold straw, the blanket covering him rough and itchy. When he opened his eyes it was to a dimly lit room, unfamiliar. Alarmed, he jolted up only to groan in pain and wrap an arm around his stomach, feeling the bandage there. Hands grabbed his shoulders.

“Sire, it’s just me!”

Arthur froze in the act of fending off his attacker, recognizing the voice. Kay. It was just Kay.

“Here, lie back,” Kay said, looking at Arthur with a worried gaze. Arthur let himself be eased back down on the bed.

“Where are we?” he demanded.

“The north,” Kay answered. “Small town by the name of Wenlock. We’ve been staying in the only inn. Not sure how much longer they’ll let us stay though. We’ll have to run out of money eventually.”

“How long have we been here?” was Arthur’s next question. It was starting to come back to him. They’d been attacked while making camp at the base of the mountain.

“Two weeks. Do you remember what happened, sire?”

“Vaguely. Lot’s men attacked us.”

“Yeah.” Kay sounded sad and Arthur stared at him until he relented and said, “Not many of us made it. Lamorak and I managed to make it. Bedivere and Bors pulled through, but...no one else.” Arthur closed his eyes, taking a moment to grieve the loss of his knights.

“And where are they now?”

“Bors and Bedivere are around somewhere. Probably sleeping. Bors is quite interested in the village leader’s daughter so he might be over there. Lamorak traveled back to Camelot. That was a week ago. It’ll take him just as long to return, hopefully with help.”

-

Lot’s chosen place for his pit was the training fields. He’d had it worked on none stop from morning so that by the time evening arrived it was finished and ready for its first ‘test run’, as Lot called it. He made Merlin come watch as one of Camelot’s guards was hurled into it. Merlin winced when he heard the sharp crack of bones breaking, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“I think a week sounds good, don’t you?” Lot asked pleasantly, as if he were asking Merlin how he felt about taking a walk in the royal garden.

“What could he have possibly done to deserve this?”

“Oh nothing, really. He was being a bit defiant, but I really do need a test run before we put the finishing touches on it.” Lot frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps a week is too long. A few days, then. Yes, that sounds good.” He turned and strode back to the castle. Merlin lingered, whispering a prayer under his breath, unsure if he was praying for safety in life or safe passage in death. The last word had barely left his lips before one of Lot’s men grabbed him and dragged him along.

-

Something didn’t feel right. After recovering enough from his wounds to travel Lamorak had ridden hard for Camelot, stopping only when he absolutely had to, trading his horse out when it couldn’t continue, all to get back to the kingdom as soon as possible and warn them of what had happened. But as he rode through the border town of Adwick he began to suspect he was too late. The streets were empty, windows shuttered, an eerie silence permeating the air. Once Lamorak thought he saw someone peeking out of a curtain, but they’d disappeared too quickly for him to be sure. He rode to an inn and found himself taking his horse to the stable himself, the stable boy mysteriously absent. Inside, the inn was empty. God, it was like being in a ghost town. Lamorak shivered.

“Hello?” he called. “Is anyone here? I promise I don’t mean any harm!” Long minutes passed. Lamorak was just considering trying the other inn across town or perhaps a whole different town when a door creaked open. A man came out cautiously.

“And who would you be, sir?” the man demanded.

“Sir Lamorak of Camelot.”

“Sir Lamorak?” The man looked relieved. “Thank god, you’re one of ours. But how did you escape? We heard the city was completely surrounded!”

“The city was what?” Lamorak’s bad feeling grew worse. “What are you talking about? I’ve only just returned to the kingdom.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Sir Lamorak?” the innkeeper said. “I’ll bring you some food and drink.”

“And explain to me what you’re on about?” Lamorak asked. The innkeeper nodded and disappeared behind the door again. Lamorak picked a table at random and sat, reeling from what little the innkeeper had revealed. There’d been an invasion. Someone invaded Camelot. He snorted. Someone. Who else but Lot? It was his soldiers who had attacked them in the north. The innkeeper brought him hot soup and a tankard of good mead, taking the seat across from him.

“I’m still not really sure of what happened myself,” the innkeeper said. “The news has only just started to reach us. But the patrol that came riding through his morning certainly makes a lot more sense.”

“Patrol,” Lamorak repeated. “A Camelot patrol?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “Weren’t Camelot’s colors I saw on them, nor the Pendragon sigil. They only stopped in long enough to declare that…” The innkeeper looked stricken now, tears gathering in his eyes. “They said King Arthur is dead. That Lot is King of Camelot now.” Lamorak felt dizzy. He put a hand to his head. Lot was King of Camelot? But what about-

“Merlin,” Lamorak blurted. “Merlin- the prince. Is the prince alive?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the innkeeper said. “The patrol didn’t make any mention of his highness. Some are saying he must be dead, others that he’s likely being held prisoner, same as the rest of the court. I just don’t know.”

Would Lot want to keep Merlin alive? Lamorak didn’t know. Lot didn’t seem like the type that would want any competition to what he viewed as his throne and Merlin was a hell of a lot of competition, even if he didn’t seem to think so. But Lamorak had been there on that diplomatic visit to Essetir and the rest of the knights had agreed there was something very unsettling about the attention Lot had paid Merlin.

Lamorak thanked the innkeeper for the information and finished his meal in silence. He had to leave immediately. There was no telling how often Lot’s patrols would visit the border towns and he couldn’t risk being discovered. He doubted they’d bother with dragging him all the way back to Camelot to throw him in the dungeons. They’d probably just kill him where he stood. He hesitated though. There had to be a way to find out what had happened to Merlin.

-

Merlin spent the first four days of Lot’s reign locked in his chambers, except for when Lot decided they should dine together. The only company he was allowed to keep was George. He knew what Lot was doing. Trying to isolate him from everyone, keep him in the dark about what was happening in Camelot. It might’ve worked, too, if not for the fact that George was allowed in. Lot clearly didn’t think much of a servant and was wrong to do so.

“There’s already been an uprising in the south,” George reported. “I’m afraid I don’t know what Lot has decided to do about it, my lord.”

“Exactly what do you mean by uprising?” Merlin asked.

“I believe a few villages have banded together and attacked the patrols in the area. Apparently they’re putting up quite a fight.” George paused, frowning as he pulled a tunic out of the wardrobe to examine it with a critical eye. He held it up for Merlin. “This one, sire?”

Merlin glanced at it. “For what?”

“Dinner with Lot again.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose in distaste and gave the tunic a more thorough glance. “Sure.” George laid it out on the bed and returned the wardrobe. “And what’s been happening around court?”

“I saw Lord Whyte being taken to the throne room,” George said. “It would seem Lot is taking it in turns to speak with the members of your court, my lord.”

“Hoping to gain their loyalty,” Merlin guessed. He wondered if any of them would be swayed. He didn’t doubt their loyalty to Arthur, with the exception of a few, such as Lord DeGrey. But Arthur wasn’t there and Merlin didn’t have as much faith in their loyalty towards himself. “And the knights?”

“Still locked in the dungeons.” George pulled out a pair of breeches and Merlin supposed that was as good a sign as any that he should change. Lot would likely be sending guards to collect him soon.

As with every meal previous, Lot attempted to engage Merlin in conversation. The topics were meaningless and Merlin had no intentions of engaging him. Until Lot brought up a subject that gave him pause.

“I think it time we discussed our marriage,” Lot declared. Merlin froze, almost unable to process the statement. He lowered his goblet, placing it gently on the table instead of hurling it at Lot’s face, which had been his initial reaction.

“Our marriage,” Merlin repeated. “I cannot marry you.”

“And why is that?” Lot demanded, amusement coloring his tone.

“I’m already married,” Merlin pointed out.

“And I have already told you that your husband is dead,” Lot countered.

“I don’t want to marry you.”

Lot reached over and gripped his wrist, vice like. “You will become my consort,” he said dangerously. His grip tightened painfully. “Do you understand.” Merlin said nothing. Lot took it for assent and released him. “Preparations will begin immediately then. Now, there’s one other thing I should make mention of.” Merlin was still reeling, trying to process the fact that sometime in the near future he would be forced to marry this man, and missed most of what Lot said next.

“-greet him.”

Merlin blinked, looking at Lot. “What?”

“I said Lord Bayard will be arriving tomorrow to affirm that the alliance he upheld with Camelot during your late king’s reign will not be affected by the recent transfer of power. You will be with me when I greet him, understand?” When Merlin didn’t immediately say anything Lot stood abruptly from his chair and backhanded him across the face. The serving girl keeping their cups filled gasped and dropped the jug and Lot whirled on her. “Take her to the pit!” he roared. Merlin temporarily forgot the pain in half his face.

“She was startled!” he argued. “She didn’t do it on purpose!”

“I don’t stand for incompetence,” Lot growled.

“She’s made one mistake,” Merlin insisted. “I know her, she’s been a servant in Camelot for years, she’s good at her job. She doesn’t deserve to be punished over one mistake.” He was shaking, he realized. Lot had just hit him. He’d likely have no qualms about doing Merlin further harm and there was no way he could defend himself.

“One mistake can turn into several,” Lot insisted. “I won’t suffer it. Guards-”

“But it was my fault!” Merlin blurted, desperate. Lot turned back to him slowly, a considering expression on his face.

“Go on,” he said.

Merlin had to take a moment to gather himself, the words he was about to say already feeling sour on his tongue. But he couldn’t let the girl be punished. It had only been four days and three people had already died from being thrown in that damn pit, either crushing their skulls against the bottom or sustaining injuries too much for Gaius to treat, assuming he was even allowed to treat them.

“It was my fault,” Merlin repeated. “If I had just answered you when I should have you wouldn’t have...wouldn’t have had to hit me. And she wouldn’t have been startled. If anyone should be punished it should...be me.” The silence in the hall was thick. Merlin found he couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone.

“Very well,” Lot finally said. “If you wish to be punished in the girl’s place then who am I to deny you?” Merlin grit his teeth against the angry words trying to escape. “Guards, escort his highness to the dungeons and administer five lashes.” Merlin forced himself to his feet, shoving his fear down underneath his anger. Two guards took hold of his arms and dragged him from the hall.

-

The guards dumped him on a stool in the physician’s chambers and took up posts on either side of the door, watching him like a hawk. Merlin wasn’t sure what they thought he was going to do. Attack them with Gaius’s pestle maybe? Tempting, but that would require moving and moving was not proving to be anything but painful right now.

“Well, they don’t look too bad,” Gaius muttered as he finished examining the five lash marks.

“They feel pretty bad,” Merlin said through gritted teeth. Gaius’s only response was to dangle a vial of something in front of Merlin’s face until he grabbed it and downed it.

-

Gaius sent George to his room that morning with another tonic for the pain. It helped, but not enough for Merlin to spend any length of time seated on his throne. There wasn’t a choice in the matter though. Lot wanted him there to greet Bayard and would accept nothing else. Merlin felt a bit like a circus attraction, like Lot was putting him on display as some sort of proof that Camelot and all those residing there were under his rule, even the prince consort. A few of Camelot’s court were there as well, lined up along the walls in their finery. It was a mockery of what Merlin knew this court could be, were Arthur the one currently sitting on his throne.

Bayard arrived with little fanfare. He hadn’t brought many men, not that more would’ve made much difference when Lot’s army was so large. As he approached, Bayard’s eyes flicked briefly to Merlin, but his attention remained on Lot.

“Congratulations on your victory,” Bayard said. It sounded hollow to Merlin’s ears, but Lot preened. “Overcoming Camelot is no easy task.”

“It becomes a great deal easier when you remove the primary obstacles,” Lot boasted. “Camelot is nothing without her king.” Merlin’s fingers dug into the wood beneath his hands.

“True,” Bayard conceded. His gaze darted once more to Merlin. “I must admit, I am saddened by King Arthur’s death. I had no quarrel with him.” It was surprising to hear Bayard express such open sadness. He’d always been a bit of a wildcard in terms of allies, ambitious and opportunistic. Not the sort to shy away from invasion if he felt it was what would best benefit his kingdom. Merlin had feared for some time after his marriage to Arthur that he would only put strain on relations with Mercia, seeing as he had once accused Bayard of attempting to poison the crown prince. Arthur had insisted that his fear was irrational. It still rankled a little that he’d been right. While Bayard had indeed remembered Merlin, he had expressed his admiration for Merlin’s loyalty and courage. In fact, he was downright fond of Merlin, always seeking him out at feasts to chat, enquiring after his wellbeing. Arthur had found it amusing. Besides, if Bayard’s strange fondness for Merlin meant he was less likely to throw away their treaty in favor of invasion then that was all the better.

“I certainly hope that won’t affect your loyalty to me,” Lot said, imperious in the way he straightened his spine and tilted his chin past the line of confident and into haughty.

“Of course not,” Bayard hastened to say. “I am sure you will be a great ally.”

“Indeed. Now, I’m sure you must be tired from your journey. I’ll have someone show you to your rooms.”

Merlin barely registered Bayard’s departure from the throne room. His back ached. His face did too. He wondered what Bayard had thought of the bruise taking up a good portion of the right side of his face. Lot made him stay a bit longer before finally allowing him to return to his chambers. George leaped up the minute he stepped inside and began making a fuss. Merlin let him, too tired to do otherwise. He let George carefully take off his tunic and remove the bandages.

“There’s a bit of blood,” George said, sounding a bit alarmed. “Shall I have Gaius sent for?”

“I’m not sure he’d be allowed,” Merlin said. “How bad does it look?” There was quiet as George carefully examined his back. “George?”

“I admit, I’m not very familiar with the care of wounds,” George said.

“Well first off, is there any bleeding?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any bleeding right now, sire.”

“Is it discolored? Or does it look inflamed? Anything?”

“It does not look discolored. At least not to my eye. Or inflamed, or anything else.”

“Then just put the salve on it and wrap it with fresh bandages.” When George had done so Merlin crawled onto his bed and fell asleep.

-

The afternoon following Bayard’s visit Merlin was shocked to see a sorcerer stride right up to the throne, get down on bended knee, and swear allegiance to Lot. He was well aware that there were sorcerers who were dissatisfied with Arthur’s rule and had come to terms with the fact that pleasing everyone was impossible, but surely even Arthur’s most stalwart opponents knew that something was out of balance with the world.

“I accept your pledge of allegiance,” Lot said, all smugness. “What is your name?”

“Aaron, sire,” the sorcerer said. Merlin recognized that name, as well as the sorcerer’s face. He’d been a very vocal supporter of Morgana’s during the war.

“Welcome to Camelot, Aaron.” Lot smirked as he beckoned a servant over. “See to it that our new ally is given appropriate accommodations.”

“Thank you, sire, you are most gracious,” Aaron said. He gave a flourishing bow. As he straightened, his eyes darted to Merlin and it was impossible to miss the gloating satisfaction in his gaze. Merlin looked away. He looked instead at the courtiers scattered about the room, there for no other reason than Lot liked an audience. They looked even more frightened than usual, clearly uneasy with the thought of an enemy sorcerer roaming their city, likely unchecked. When Aaron was gone from the room Lot beckoned forth a member of his own court.

“How go the wedding preparations?” Lot asked. Merlin closed his eyes and prayed for a giant hole to open up and swallow him whole, throne and all. He’d been trying not to think his impending second marriage.

“They go well, your majesty,” the man reported before launching into a detailed explanation. Merlin tuned it all out.

-

Lamorak returned alone.

“You should rest and have something to eat,” Arthur said. “I’m sure whatever you have to report can wait.”

“It really can’t,” Lamorak said. Arthur took note of his expression, a mix of sadness and anxiety.

“Very well. What news do you bring of Camelot?”

“Bad news,” Lamorak said. “Very bad news. Seven days ago I arrived in the border town of Adwick to find the people hiding in their homes. The innkeeper I spoke to wasn’t able to tell me much, just that a patrol of foreign knights had come through that morning, announcing that you are dead and Lot is their new king.”

Arthur felt his blood turn to ice. For a moment his voice failed him before he finally managed to croak out, “What?” The rest of the knights were just as speechless.

“I was able to find out that Lot attacked in the night with an overwhelming force,” Lamorak continued. “But that’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

God, his kingdom. Oh god, his _husband_. “Merlin,” Arthur said. “What of Merlin? What happened to him?”

“All I know is that he’s alive,” Lamorak said. Arthur released a long, slow breath. At least there was that. “Guess a lot of recent events make sense now.”

“How so?” Bors asked.

“This was Lot’s endgame,” Arthur said. “Invasion. He poisoned the ley lines to weaken Merlin and sent assassins after me where I would be far from help. All so he could invade Camelot.” The tactician in Arthur acknowledge the brilliance of the plan. The rest of him cursed Lot.

-

The day of his second wedding Merlin couldn’t muster the energy to get out of bed. Other than a fitting with the royal tailor, he’d been left alone the last three days. His back was much improved because of it, but it was still sore. He made a valiant attempt at hiding under the covers, but George eventually pulled them reluctantly away and urged him towards the freshly drawn bath. For once, Merlin let George wash him, mostly for his back. Then he sat in the water until it went cold. On the bed George had laid out the wedding attire that had been made for the occasion. Dark breeches, blue tunic. After he’d dried off and let George rebandage his back he slowly dressed. George fussed, straightening out his tunic, fiddling with his hair, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulders, and Merlin suffered it because this was how George expressed that he was worried. Finally, George took the crown from its shelf in the wardrobe and reverently placed it on Merlin’s brow. When he stepped back he bowed deeply, remaining there for several seconds longer than he needed to before straightening.

“Thank you George,” Merlin said quietly.

“I am here to serve, your majesty,” George said. He looked so solemn.

A knock on the door drew their attention. Merlin dreaded seeing guards in Lot’s colors come to escort him to the ceremony, but when George opened the door it was Gwen who stepped into the room. He hadn’t seen her since the night of the surrender, dressed in her bloodstained nightgown as she tended to the injured. She looked tired. They must all look tired. Merlin wondered what she was doing here and she would get in trouble for it. The gown she’d chosen for that day was bright Pendragon red, the same subtle but firm protest that Merlin had staged with George’s help at breakfast on that first morning. George found an excuse to take himself out of the room. For a long moment they were quiet.

“We will get through this,” Gwen said. She’d always had admirable courage and quiet strength that was easy to underestimate because she was good and kind and many people mistook those qualities for weakness.

Merlin wasn’t sure what we meant to say, but it wasn’t the small, “I’m scared,” that slipped out. He was scared though. Gwen came forward and took his hands in hers.

“I know,” she said gently. “But it will be alright.” She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring the door was shut. “I managed to speak with Mithian when she was here a few days past. Our allies haven’t given up and neither should we.”

“Lot’s occupation of Camelot isn’t the only problem, Gwen,” Merlin reminded her. “If the ley lines can’t be healed then none of it will matter. The world will die and all will die with it. If Arthur-”

“Arthur is not dead,” Gwen snapped, startling Merlin into taking a step back. She paused to breathe. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…but he’s not. Until I see his body with my own eyes I will not believe it. Lot is just trying to break you because he knows if he does, the rest of the kingdom will break with you.”

Merlin snorted softly. “I think you’re giving me too much credit. Camelot doesn’t need me that badly.”

“Yes it does,” Gwen insisted. “Until Arthur returns you’re the one ruling Camelot. You’re the one they’ll look to for strength and courage.”

“Don’t really have a lot of those lately,” Merlin said. “If I did would we even be here?” Gwen observed him for a long moment.

“You know, you’re strength and your courage aren’t tied to your magic,” she said. “You’re more than that, I know you are.”

“Not according to all the prophecies that have been written about me. Face it, people don’t respect me, they respect my magic. I’m useless right now.”

“You weren’t useless to that serving girl.”

Merlin looked away. “It’s my fault Camelot is in this situation in the first place. The least I can do is try not to make the people suffer for my mistakes.”

“That’s not true,” Gwen argued. “None of this is your fault.” She hugged him, gently, taking special care not to aggravate his back. “You’re doing your best.”

“And it isn’t good enough.”

“You’re the only who thinks that.”

“So you keep saying.” Merlin drew back. “Ruling Camelot was never my destiny. It’s Arthur’s. I’m just supposed to help. And I apparently can’t even do that very well.”

Gwen sighed the sigh of someone who knew they were fighting a losing battle. “I don’t think destiny is the ultimate decider you seem to think it is,” she said. “People like to make such a big fuss about it, but tell me Merlin, has it ever really made you happy?” He almost said yes, but then he paused and thought about it. No, destiny had never really made him happy. Destiny was what Kilgharrah had ben going on about when he’d told Merlin that Mordred and Morgana had to die. Sometimes, when Merlin let himself really think about it, he wondered how many of the things that had happened, so many of which he regretted, would have happened if he’d never heard of his grand destiny. But what else did he have?

“I should probably go,” Gwen said. “Just hang in there, Merlin.” She kissed him on the cheek and swept out of the room. Merlin barely noticed, lost in his thoughts.

The next time there was a knock on the door to his chambers it was guards come to escort him to the wedding.

-

The mood in the throne room was somber as the courtiers lined up in rows. They could all of them still remember the last time there was a royal wedding in Camelot. Bright spring flowers and ribbons had decorated the grand hall and the feeling had been one of excited anticipation. Today not even the sky could bring itself to be cheerful. Rain pounded against the tall glass windows with a ferocity that mimicked the tempest each of them felt in their hearts as the doors opened and Lot made his way imperiously down the aisle. Heads bowed out of self preservation. Lot took his place at the head of the room next to a defeated looking Geoffrey and turned his attention back to the doors. The rest of the room looked with him.

They opened a second time to reveal Merlin, poisoned on the threshold of the room, resplendent in his rich blue tunic. His lips were drawn down in a frown and his eyes were so very sad. But he held his chin high as he moved slowly down the aisle. The contrast to their young monarch’s previous wedding was chilling.

Geoffrey’s voice rang out through the hall with a touch of reluctance to his tone, “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen of Camelot, we are gathered here today to celebrate, by the ancient rite of handfasting, the union of King Lot and Prince Merlin Pendragon.” Lot held his hands out and Merlin reluctantly placed his own in them. “Is it your wish, Lot, to become one with this man?”

“It is,” Lot answered, voice proud and strong, confident.

“Is it your wish, Merlin, to become one with this man?”

The silence stretched. Those who were close enough could see the hatred in Merlin’s eyes as he looked at Lot. For a moment, they fancied that he would say no and call the whole thing off. But Lot’s hands tightened around Merlin’s and the threat in his narrowed eyes was clear. No would have terrible consequences.

“It is,” Merlin finally said.

“Do any say nay?”

A few of them opened their mouths as if to do just that, the words straining to be released into the cavernous hall, but none dared. The ceremony continued, a thick atmosphere soaked in grief settling over the room. It felt more like attending a funeral than a wedding. Geoffrey reluctantly wrapped the beribboned garland around Lot and Merlin’s hands. Lot said his vows with conviction and smug arrogance. Merlin’s voice was little more than a whisper, barely carrying past the first row of courtiers.

At last Geoffrey announced, “I now pronounce you to be married,” and the hall filled with politely reluctant applause. Lot’s hand curled proprietarily around Merlin’s neck and yanked him forward into a dominating kiss. Next was the feast, which no one was eager to attend. There was nothing to celebrate.

-

Lot didn’t leave the festivities until well into the night, dragging Merlin along by his wrist. Merlin was trying desperately not to panic. He’d put a lot of effort into not thinking about what usually came after a wedding, when the newly wedded couple retired for the evening. There was nothing he wanted less than to share a bed with Lot in any capacity, much less anything involving the consummation of a marriage. But he had to. He didn’t have a choice. And things would be so much easier if he just let it happen. Except he kept thinking of his marriage to Arthur. Drunk on wine, giddy with excitement, taking far too long to reach the royal chambers because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and kept getting distracted. This would be nothing like that.

In his chambers, Lot wasted no time reeling Merlin in until they were flush together. Then Lot leaned in, intentions clear, and Merlin tried to remind himself that this was happening no matter what he did, that he didn’t have the means to fight it right now, that it would be a lot worse if he tried to fight it anyway. He turned his head, feeling Lot’s lips brush against his cheek. He couldn’t do it.

“What are you doing?” Lot demanded, low and dangerous.

“I can’t,” Merlin whispered. “I can’t. I _can’t_.” Lot’s grip tightened until his hands were painful on Merlin’s hips. Merlin didn’t dare look. He could already picture the anger in Lot’s expression.

“You dare refuse me?” Lot snarled.

“I can’t,” Merlin repeated. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to. I didn’t want to marry you, I don’t want to share a bed with you, I don’t want any of it!” Lot shoved him away. Before Merlin could get his bearings again Lot backhanded him across the face and he stumbled to the floor.

“You don’t get to deny me this!” Lot snarled. He hauled Merlin up, holding tight to his forearm, and began to drag him from the room. Merlin dug his heels in, resisting with all his might, grabbing at the doorframe, but Lot yanked him firmly onward.

“Where are you taking me?” Merlin demanded, bare feet skidding along the stone corridors. Lot ignored him. They left the citadel, going into the courtyard, towards the training fields and a sense of dread overcame Merlin. “Let go of me!” he yelled. “Stop, let go! No!” Merlin threw all his weight into resisting, but he was no match for Lot’s superior strength. The king gestured as they approached and the guards stationed there moved forward to drag the slab off the pit. It seemed even more ominous in the dark.

“I will teach you to respect and obey me,” Lot snapped. He propelled Merlin forward and hurled him into the pit. Merlin screamed as the bottom rushed up to meet him. His entire body flared with pain when he hit and he thought he heard his bones cracking, but then the entire world went dark and Merlin knew no more.

-

Galahad made the most horribly wounded sound when Gwaine grimly stated that the protesting voice they could hear out in the courtyard was Merlin. Leon put a steadying hand on the young knight’s shoulder. There were few in Camelot who were unaware of the promise he had given to the king before his departure. To be stuck here in a prison where he could not keep that oath was clearly torture, perhaps more so than for the rest of them. They sat in silence for a long while.

“You don’t think it’s true, do you?” All eyes in the cell turned to Elyan. “I’m not trying to...I don’t want it to be true. But is it possible?”

“Of course it’s possible,” Leon answered. There was no question what Elyan was talking about. They’d avoided the topic thus far, but it weighed on all of their minds: the fate of their beloved king. “But it isn’t true. Whatever’s happened to Arthur, he isn’t dead.” His tone had a bit of a sneer to it, but Leon couldn’t help it. All he could see was the way Merlin had started to crumble when Lot threw Excalibur and the sigil at his feet. If for no other reason than to give Merlin the strength to keep going, Leon wouldn’t believe anything other than that his king was alive.

“What do you think Lot has planned for us?” Percival asked. “I can’t imagine it would be anything good.”

“And here I thought he was going to throw us a big party,” Gwaine remarked, heavy on the sarcasm. Elyan happily took on the task of smacking him over the head. “Ow!” Gwaine rubbed the back of his head. “What?” When all he received were unimpressed stares he sighed. “Alright, sorry. If you really wanna know what I think-”

“Know one wants to know what you think,” Elyan said. Gwaine flipped him off. Leon rubbed his forehead and sighed. It was like being locked up with a bunch of children.

“I hate not knowing what’s going on,” Gwaine muttered some time later.

“What, and the rest of us do?” Elyan snapped.

“Please stop.” Everyone turned to look at Galahad. “None of us like this. That’s no reason to start turning on each other.” Elyan and Gwaine glanced at each other. Before either of them could decide to apologize they heard a sound at the door of their cell, followed by a voice.

“Leon?”

“Gwen!” Leon scrambled across the cell, the others close behind. They crowded around. “Gwen what are you doing here?”

“I don’t have much time,” Gwen said. Leon noticed that she was dressed in the plain, simple garb of a servant, her hair tucked up under a scarf.

“What’s going on?” Galahad demanded. “Is Merlin alright?” Gwen’s expression spoke volumes.

“Have you heard?” she asked. The knights exchanged confused glances.

“Heard of what?” Leon asked. “We haven’t heard anything really. Nobody speaks to us.”

Gwen cast a glance down the corridor, checking for guards. Then she leaned in close. “Lot married Merlin this afternoon.” The silence in the cell was stunned.

“He can’t,” Gwaine blurted. “Merlin’s already married.”

“Lot’s had Arthur declared dead,” Gwen reminded them. She shook her head. “We don’t have time to discuss this in depth. Mithian was here two days ago. We had a chance to talk. She’s already been in contact with a few other kingdoms and she said none of them will stand for this. They’re not fools. They know Lot will eventually turn his sights on them.”

“So they’re planning a war?” Leon asked.

“I’m not sure what they’re planning yet.” Gwen glanced over her shoulder again. “I should go. I’m not sure if I’m still confined to my chambers, but I’m sure Lot wouldn’t want me anywhere near the dungeons.” She reached through the bars and clasped Leon’s hand. “There is hope,” she insisted. “This won’t last forever.” Then she was gone.

-

Merlin opened his eyes and wondered for a moment if he hadn’t gone blind. Then the memories came back to him, of being dragged across the courtyard after refusing Lot and being hurled into the pit. If he looked up, he could just see a thin sliver of light where the stone slab didn’t completely cover the pit. Moving was painful. He hoped he didn’t have any broken bones. Just above his head was one edge of the pit’s wall. His toes brushed the other. Merlin did what he could to drag himself up. He shivered, cold.

The hours slipped past. Despite the pain in his body, Merlin found himself feeling more at peace than he had since Arthur’s departure from Camelot. There was nothing for him to do, no one to bother him. For the first time in the gods only knew how long he was alone and there was nothing expected of him. Then he shifted, his hand brushing along something he hadn’t noticed before. Frowning, he reached out until his fingers found torn fabric. He felt around in the dark until with dawning horror Merlin realized that he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Breath coming in quick, panicked gasps, Merlin scrambled away from the body propped against the wall. A guard or a knight, who had most likely died from the wounds they’d sustained after being dropped into the pit.

-

Arthur’s first instinct upon learning the fate of his kingdom and his husband had been to leave for Camelot immediately. And he would have, had Kay not threatened to tie him to the bed.

“You almost died, sire!” the knight scolded. “You must rest! You will not be much good to the kingdom or the prince if you do not allow yourself to heal!”

Although he didn’t like lying in bed all day, it had turned out to be a good thing, and not just for his injuries. It had forced him to think. Lamorak’s report lacked detail, but that was in large part because he hadn’t dared venture much farther than the border towns, where news was scarce. All they knew was that Lot had invaded with a massive army, far outnumbering Camelot’s forces. Beyond that, they knew nothing, certainly not enough to go charging into Camelot in a suicidal attempt to reclaim his kingdom. Kay, Bors, Lamorak, and Bedivere were all excellent knights, but they weren’t an army. And besides, there was still the matter of the stone for the ritual. Reclaiming Camelot would be for nothing if the ley lines continued to die.

Finally, though, Arthur felt well enough to travel. His knights were still hesitant.

“We’re short on time,” Arthur reminded them, strapping his sword belt on. “We need to reach the sacred pool.”

“It won’t be an easy journey, sire,” Bedivere said.

“We are leaving,” Arthur said with finality. “Has someone taken stock of our supplies?”

“Yes, sire,” Bors said. “Lamorak and I replenished what we needed yesterday evening.”

“Excellent. Then all we need is to acquire some horses and then we can head out.”

“Kay is sorting out horses as we speak.”

“Then what are you all standing around here for? Our supplies won’t load itself.”

They left without question.

The entire first day of their journey was silent. Arthur urged them onwards with a single minded determinedness, barely remembering to stop to eat and rest the horses. By the time the sun was setting they’d made it to the foot of the mountains. Camp was made swiftly and first watch was decided when Kay firmly planted himself by the fire, sword at the ready. Arthur fell asleep only after tossing and turning for a few hours and woke to early morning light.

“Why didn’t anyone wake me for a turn at watch?” Arthur snapped, finally breaking the silence as he stormed from his tent. Bors, Kay, and Lamorak all quickly found something to do that took them out of the line of fire, leaving Bedivere to suffer Arthur’s glare.

“The four of us had it well in hand, sire,” Bedivere said. “And besides, you may be recovered enough to travel, but you are still recovering. Rest is important right now.”

Damn him for making sense. “Someone still should have woke me,” Arthur grumbled.

-

By the end of the first week of his reign Lot had banned the crest of the House of Pendragon. The next day he banned the bright red and gold colors it was made of. Gwen took it as a good thing. After all, if lot feared the colors and sigil of the deposed ruling family then that meant that the people viewed them as powerful symbols. According to George (Lot allowed him far too much freedom, clearly not understanding that servants were poor, not stupid) there was a group of village towards the south who had formed a ramshackle, but effective army under a banner depicting the golden dragon on a field of red. Even within the city there were resistance efforts going on, though they had to be far more careful than those in the outer regions. It was such a contrast to what she saw inside in the citadel (or what she was allowed to see, at least). Lot did well with keeping them separated and ignorant, especially Merlin. It had taken a monumental amount of coordination just to get her in there for a brief time before the wedding. She wondered if George had told him about the rebellion in the south and the efforts inside the city and if he hadn’t, how she could best get a message to him describing it. Then she remembered that Merlin was in the pit.

Gwen could see the training fields from her window. The pit Lot had built stood out starkly against the smooth grass on which the Knights of Camelot had trained. Part of Gwen was terrified that when Lot finally deigned to end the punishment Merlin wouldn’t even be alive. Her only consolation at the moment was that sometimes she could see food being tossed down there. Surely they wouldn’t bother if Merlin weren’t consuming it?

A flash of movement caught her eye and Gwen turned her attention to the other side of the training fields, frowning at the men there. They were sorcerers, enemies of Camelot, come to swear allegiance to Lot. There were six of them now. Their presence made her even more nervous than Lot’s soldiers because unlike Merlin, these sorcerers could still use their magic. She had yet to hear of them using it against the people in any way, but that meant nothing. The fact of the matter was that they were there and they hated Camelot and they had been given the freedom to roam the city wherever they pleased. It was only a matter of time before something happened.

The door opened and Gwen looked over her shoulder, tensed and glaring, but it was only Sefa. Sefa shut the door carefully behind her and brought the laundry she was carrying over to the bed. Gwen kept one eye on the door for any intruders as she drifted closer. There was a flash of white paper among her dresses and Gwen quietly snatched it up, turning away from the door so the message would be shielded should anyone decide to come barging in. Sefa kept on as if nothing were amiss.

The message was from Mithian, written in the code they’d managed to come up with during the brief time they’d been able to meet during Mithian’s visit. It took some work to decipher the message, but when she did Gwen smiled. Mithian had had someone contact the peasant rebellion in the south and they were currently discussing how best she could support them against Lot’s soldiers. It was an excellent start.

-

On the surface, there was nothing special about the lake Arthur and his men finally came upon. The water rippled in a gentle breeze, but the shiver that ran down Arthur’s back wasn’t from the chill of cold mountain air. His knights hung back while he approached the edge of the lake, fiddling with the token from the high priestess. Arthur didn’t blame them. Merlin had once talked about sacred sites of the Old Religion being so much more alive than any other place, as if the world were vibrating. Arthur didn’t think he would ever experience the world as Merlin did, but there was something in the air that set this place apart, probably the same thing that kept the water from freezing over.

He turned the token over in his hand. It was no bigger than a coin, smooth, but dull in color, carved out of something deceptively cheap. Arthur didn’t know if the material it was made of was special or if the look of it had to do with magic or if it even mattered what the token was made of. He could feel a spark of something when he touched it, familiar, like the electric tingle he sometimes felt when he ran his hands over Merlin’s skin. A wave of melancholy swept over him at the thought of Merlin. Gods, he missed his husband. He wondered how Merlin was getting along. There’d been a great deal of hesitation when he’d insisted on leaving his kingdom to Merlin’s care. Not from him, from Merlin. It hadn’t been until Merlin had brought it up that Arthur realized he hadn’t ever done this before. Merlin had always seemed so nervous about being left to look after Camelot alone that Arthur had only left it when he could contrive some excuse to bring his husband along. Gwen had once expressed her opinion that perhaps Merlin would be a more confident consort if Arthur stopped trying to coddle him, but the young king couldn’t help it. The anger over the things Merlin had done before their marriage had long left him. In its place lingered things like sorrow and maybe pity and above all a desire to see Merlin happy, not burdened down with responsibilities and concerns. That was the king’s job.

Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts, hand tightening around the token. He was stalling. The thought of tossing this little token into a sacred pool to summon a goddess was on the level of terrifying. But they were running out of time. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Arthur pulled back his arm and threw the token into the lake.

Nothing happened. Long seconds ticked past until Arthur finally turned around to give his knights a questioning look. Kay aborted a clueless shrug to gasp and point at something behind Arthur, eyes wide with a mixture of fright and awe. Lamorak, Bedivere, and Bors all had varying degrees of the same expression on their faces. Arthur whipped back around. His breath caught in his throat.

A woman stood on the water. She looked young, though Arthur didn’t pretend to have any knowledge of the age of a goddess. There were hints of a wild and untamed beauty in her, but they were overshadowed by her sickly appearance. Long hair fell limp down her back, the flowers adorning it wilting. Weariness clung to her.

“You are the Triple Goddess,” Arthur said.

“I am the Maiden,” the goddess replied. There was some niggling bit of knowledge borne of earlier conversations with Merlin that the Maiden was a familiar concept, but for the moment it eluded him.

“I’ve come to ask your help on behalf of High Priestess Carwen.”

“In order to heal the damage done to the ley lines,” the Maiden finished for him. She smiled and lifted one of her hands, palm up. Soft words left her mouth in a soothing chant. Golden strands so bright they hurt to look at twisted out of the air and twined around the Maiden’s fingers, condensing in her palm. Arthur looked for as long as he could bear, but finally had to avert his eyes from the light. When he dared to look again the light was gone and a small stone, not much bigger than the token he’d originally brought, floated in front of him.

“Take this to the high priestess,” the Maiden said. “She will know what to do with it.” Arthur hesitated a moment before plucking the stone out of the air. It seemed unremarkable. He carefully tucked it away.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“Keep it safe,” the Maiden cautioned. “Travel swiftly, King Arthur, and do so with the knowledge that the gods will look after you, as we do all our children.” Arthur blinked and she was gone. He turned once again to his knights.

“Holy shit,” Bors whispered. Lamorak could only nod. Arthur cleared his throat, trying to shake himself out of the strange, but not unpleasant daze he’d fallen into during the conversation with the Maiden.

“Nightfall is still a ways off,” he said. “We’ll get as far down the mountain as we can.”

-

Merlin had no idea how much time had passed when a ladder was finally tossed down and he was instructed to climb out. The climb was excruciating, but his desire for fresh air, for the sun on his skin, the wind in his hair, to leave the dead body behind, urged him onward until hands were grasping him and pulling him out. Lot’s guards weren’t gentle about dragging him back towards the castle. Merlin fought them with what little strength he had only as long as it took for him to realize that they were taking him to the physician’s chambers, where they unceremoniously dumped him on a stool before leaving, probably to take up posts in the corridor. He was surprised they were giving him any privacy at all.

Gaius nearly dropped the book he’d been reading straight into the fire, catching it at the last second. “Merlin!” he exclaimed, up out of his chair and halfway across the room before he stopped and really took him in. Merlin had no idea what he looked like, but he assumed it was bad.

“I think I could use a bath,” he mumbled. A sad smile quirked Gaius’s lips for a moment.

“That you could, my boy.” Gaius went to the door and poked his head out. Merlin couldn’t hear what he said. He assumed it was a request for a bath to be brought down. When Gaius came to stand beside the stool he placed a hand to Merlin’s forehead. “How do you feel?”

Merlin shrugged and winced when that single motion seemed to aggravate every injury on his body. “I’ve felt better.”

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” Gaius said. “Which is lucky, considering you were in there for five days.”

“Is that how long it’s been?” Gods, five entire days. Gaius didn’t reply, just kept going over his injuries until a team of servants appeared with a bathtub which they quickly filled with hot water. One of them brought a change of clothes and then stood silently off to the side, waiting, Merlin realized, to assist him with his bath. He didn’t even need to ask before Gaius was shooing the servant away.

The bath was refreshing. Something ached every time he moved, but he ignored it in favor of scrubbing away the grime of the pit. When he was done, he climbed out and dressed in his clean breeches, leaving the tunic for now. Then he sat and let Gaius tend to his wounds. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and never come out again.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” Merlin said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“You’re keeping Camelot strong,” Gaius replied.

“Am I?”

Gaius finished tying off the bandage and sat down beside his former ward. “Yes, you are,” he said simply.

“I don’t even know what’s going on,” Merlin said. “George said something about an uprising in the south last week and gods know how many more sorcerers have shown up to pledge allegiance to Lot.”

“There was an uprising in the south,” Gaius confirmed. He looked grim.

Merlin frowned. “What happened?”

Gaius sighed. “Lot had their villages burned to the ground.”

“Gods.” Merlin covered his mouth, unable to keep himself from picturing homes and fields set ablaze, people fleeing for their lives.

“There is a rumor that many of them escaped and have either gone over the border into Nemeth or taken refuge with the druids,” Gaius continued. He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “You mustn’t blame yourself for this, Merlin. They chose to rise up in your name-”

“In _my_ name?” Merlin interrupted. “Why would they- why?”

“Who else would they be fighting for?” Gaisu asked. “I agree that there is every possibility that Arthur is alive and that he will find his way back to Camelot to reclaim his throne, but there is also every possibility that he’s-”

“ _Don’t._ Don’t say it. Please.” He couldn’t bear to hear it right now.

“Arthur isn’t here,” Gaius tried again. “Regardless of whether he returns, right now you are Camelot’s reigning monarch and therefore you are the one they fight for.” Merlin decided against arguing the point. He was too tired for it.

“I feel useless,” he said instead. “I can’t do anything. I can’t even defend myself, much less an entire kingdom.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, sounding a bit exasperated, “you need to stop focusing on what you can’t do and focus on what you can do. No, you most certainly cannot defend an entire kingdom from an invading army right now, which was the whole point of Lot’s plan to poison the ley lines in the first place and absolutely not your fault. But that doesn’t mean you’re helpless.” He raised an expectant eyebrow and Merlin knew his old mentor was expecting him to come to an answer, but he was exhausted. Instead, his mind just chased itself in anxious circles until he looked distressed enough that Gaius took pity on him. He dropped his voice low to ensure he couldn’t be heard and said, “You are in an excellent position to spy on Lot.”

“Spy on Lot,” Merlin repeated, just barely remembering to keep his voice down. “Yeah, alright, I’ll give you that. But to what end? What would be the point?”

“I’m sure Camelot’s allies would find inside information to be a great deal of help.”

“How would I even get it to them? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have much in the way of freedom right now.”

“That, I don’t have a solution for,” Gaius admitted. “But it wouldn’t hurt to bring it up with Queen Annis, if you can find a moment to speak to her alone.” He held out a cup of something that Merlin was sure would taste positively foul.

“Annis?”

“Drink that right away,” Gaius instructed and Merlin did, pulling a face at the taste. “Yes, Queen Annis. She’s set to arrive tomorrow.”

“To swear some half assed oath of fealty that likely won’t stop Lot from invading anyway,” Merlin muttered. Seeing Annis might be nice, but Merlin didn’t have the energy for it. Lot would want to put on another one of his big shows to stroke his ego and Merlin would be forced to sit through it all, helpless to stop it. It was the last thing he wanted to do after the past week.

“Stay strong Merlin,” Gaius said. “Camelot isn’t defeated yet.” They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Two of Lot’s knights entered.

“The king will see the prince immediately,” one of them said. Merlin’s lips twisted into a grimace. He wasn’t ready to face Lot again, not when he could still feel the filth of the pit on his skin and the presence of an unmoving body beside him. But Lot would not be kept waiting. So Merlin pulled himself to his feet, let Gaius help him into his fresh tunic, and followed the knights. He wasn’t surprised when he was lead to the throne room. Lot did love his theatrics. Merlin refused to bow before his own throne.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Lot asked arrogantly. Merlin lifted his chin high, gathering what remained of his strength.

“If the lesson is that you are arrogant and a coward then I learned it long ago,” he said. Lot’s scowl was quickly covered, but its presence was a victory in Merlin’s mind. For a moment Lot looked as if he might come down from Arthur’s throne and hit him again. The moment passed. He waved an imperious hand.

“I’m sure you must be tired,” Lot said, kindly in a way that made Merlin’s skin crawl. “Escort the prince to his chambers so that he may rest.”

George and Gwen were waiting in his chambers. Merlin wasn’t sure how Gwen had wrangled her way in, but the guards who had escorted him ignored her presence, leaving the three of them alone. There was food on the table. Merlin sat down and let George pile a plate high and set it before him, but his stomach turned at the thought of eating. He picked at it, knowing he should eat. Lot’s men had tossed a few meager rations into the pit, enough to keep him going, but only just. George hovered and fussed until Gwen cleared her throat.

“George,” she said softly, “perhaps you could see if Audrey would be willing to prepare a broth?”

“Yes, of course, my lady.” George sounded relieved to have an excuse to take himself out of the room.

“Wait,” Merlin said. “George, what have you done with my crown?”

“It’s in its usual place, my lord,” George answered. Merlin grimaced. A crown was not just an object. It was a symbol of status.

“Take it to the king’s chambers,” he instructed. The night of the surrender Merlin had nearly made himself sick thinking of Lot making himself at home in Arthur’s chambers and had asked George to seal the doors and hide the keys. So far, other than a mild tantrum when he realized he couldn’t enter, Lot hadn’t paid it much mind. Merlin had no idea if Lot gave any credence to his crown, but he would feel much better if it were out of reach all the same.

“Of course, sire.” George paused. “Then shall I see to Lady Guinevere’s request?”

“Yes, I would appreciate it.” Merlin waited until he heard the door to the servant’s passage falling shut before shoving his plate away and burying his face in his hand.

“Are you alright?” Gwen’s voice was small and gentle, her hand alighting on his shoulder with a delicate touch.

“No,” Merlin admitted. He let his hand fall away and stared absently at it. His eyes were automatically drawn to the shine of the new ring on his left hand, Lot’s claim of ownership over him. Where normally he would feel anger, Merlin only felt tired. “I feel as if I’m unraveling.” He expected a pep talk or something, but Gwen just wrapped her arms around him, guiding his head to rest against her stomach.

Merlin did not make the same mistake twice. That night, when Lot summoned him, Merlin went with the grim knowledge if he were to remain in a position to protect his people in whatever way he could, he must not refuse Lot. That didn’t mean he had to a willing participant, but Lot seemed not to care that Merlin remained still under his touch.

-

His throne was really uncomfortable. Not that Merlin hadn’t noticed it before, but it was especially noticeable now when he was still suffering the aches and pains from being thrown into a pit. He would kill for a pillow right now. A pillow would make things infinitely better. Merlin was actually on the verge of asking George if he could go find one (or five) when Queen Annis entered the throne room. She was as stern faced as ever as she approached, giving the barest incline of her head. Merlin fancied she’d rather spit in Lot’s smug face.

“Queen Annis, welcome,” Lot said graciously. “No trouble during your journey, I hope?”

“It was without incident,” Annis answered shortly. She looked around the grand hall. “I must say, Camelot has much changed since I last visited.” There was a tone of displeasure to her voice saying she didn’t think much of the change. Lot picked up on it and frowned.

“That tends to happen when a kingdom is conquered,” he said.

Annis looked skeptical. “Yes, I’m sure. I trust Camelot’s truce with my kingdom will be unaffected by these changes?” Merlin had to cough to hide his snort of laughter. Only Annis would come marching into Camelot at Lot’s summons just to wrest control of the situation away from him and make it seem like she was only there because she’d deigned to humor him.

Lot floundered silently for a moment. “I see no reason why they should,” he managed.

“Good. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long journey.” Annis turned and swept from the room. After a moment a servant scrambled to follow and lead the way to the rooms set aside for the Gwyneddian party.

It was Sefa who later came to fetch Merlin from his chambers through the servant’s entrance. With George remaining to ensure no one would notice his absence, Merlin followed her through the maze of servant passages to the guest chambers where Annis was. Annis was waiting for him by the fireplace. She spent an uncomfortable amount of time just observing Merlin through her sharp gaze. Then she swiftly crossed the distance between them and pulled him into a hug, trying to be careful of his injuries. Merlin was shocked.

“I have news for you,” Annis said when she stepped away, gesturing for Merlin to have a seat in one of the chairs. She sat as well.

“News,” Merlin repeated. “Good news or bad news?”

“Good news of course. It concerns a rumor recently conveyed to me by one of my spies in the north. A knight in a red cloak traveling with great haste towards Alba. I believe that is where Arthur’s destination was?”

Something warm and hopeful started to unfurl in Merlin’s chest. “It is,” he confirmed. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid,” Annis said, shaking her head. “My spy is still investigating the matter. Regardless, I would call it a good sign.” She paused, reaching behind her, and Merlin noticed that there was a pitcher of water and two goblets on the table.

“Thank you,” Merlin said sincerely. One knight wearing a red cloak in the north was nowhere near confirmation that Arthur and his knights were alive, but he’d take what he could get.

“I feel I should mention,” Annis said, “that regardless of Arthur’s fate, Camelot’s allies will stand beside you and support you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Merlin said. “Between me and Lot I’m sure it’s not much of a choice.” Annis frowned.

“That isn’t-”

“However,” he continued before Annis could say anything, “taking back Camelot is only one part of the problem.”

Now Annis was frowning for a different reason. “Does this have to do with why you can’t use your magic?”

“It’s the reason for it. It’s also why Arthur undertook a quest to the northern kingdom of Alba. The ley lines have been poisoned.” Merlin held up his wrist so the charm caught the afternoon light. “This is all that’s keeping me from feeling the effects, which made me so ill I couldn’t even get out of bed.” Annis’s eyes widened.

“What about other sorcerers?” she asked. “Are they affected in the same way?”

“No, not from what I’ve seen. But I’m a bit...different.”

“So I assume the ley lines need to be healed.”

“Yes.” Merlin sighed. He opened his mouth to explain further when the servant’s entrance opened and Sefa appeared.

“Lot just returned to the city,” she reported.

“Thank you, Sefa.” Merlin turned back to Annis. “I should go. But you should speak to Gwen before you leave.”

“I’ll do that,” Annis said.

-

Leon was starting to think that Lot had forgotten about them when he found himself yanked out of his cell, along with a handful of other knights. Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival were left behind, but Galahad was brought along as well. There were seven of them in total, all being led from the dungeons. Dread filled Leon the closer they got to their destination. It was the throne room. As he had on the night of Camelot’s surrender, Lot sat on Arthur’s throne, smug and arrogant. To his left sat Merlin, pale and thin and tired. Their eyes met for just a moment before Merlin’s moved away. It was heartbreaking to see someone Leon knew was brave and strong and kind looking so broken.

“I wonder,” Lot began, voice booming through the room, “if any of you have divined the reason for why I have brought you here.” The knights remained silent. “No one? Let me help you, then. Your king is dead, your kingdom has been conquered. Before you now lies a choice, one which will determine your fate: Whether or not to swear allegiance to me. I urge you to consider your options carefully.”

A glance down the line of knights showed that each of them found the idea of swearing loyalty to Lot as repulsive as Leon did. When the silence continued to stretch Lot’s brow furrowed with a displeased frown. Merlin was glancing between the foreign king and the knights with unease.

“No one?” Lot asked. “Very well, perhaps you need some incentive.” Leon was thrown back to Morgana’s first reign over Camelot, when she had lined himself and his fellow knights up in the courtyard as if she meant to execute them. He feared what Lot had planned to attempt to dispel their defiance. “I’ve been thinking it’s about time we had an execution. And just to make this more interesting, the first to die will be chosen by my consort.”

The words took a moment to sink into Merlin’s mind. When they did, he turned slowly to face Lot. “What?”

“Choose one of them to die,” Lot said.

Merlin’s expression hardened and Leon could see a flicker of anger in his eyes. “No.”

“Do it. Now.”

“I will not reward their loyalty with death,” Merlin said, low and dangerous. Lot looked to be barely keeping the urge to throw Merlin to the ground and beat him in check.

“Fine,” Lot snapped, petulant. His eyes trailed over the line of knights and finally he pointed at one of them. “His head will be on the chopping block at noon tomorrow.” Galahad’s eyes widened for only a moment before his expression became resigned, accepting his fate.

“No, not him,” Merlin blurted.

“You revoked your right to make that decision,” Lot said.

“Not him,” Merlin repeated. Lot’s gaze was speculative.

“And what would you be willing to do to convince me?”

In a display of rashness that Leon was sure Lot would punish later, Merlin grabbed the usurper’s tunic and pulled him close, whispering something in his ear. Whatever he said pleased Lot, his insulted frown easing into a pleased smirk.

“Very well,” Lot said. “I shall indulge you this once. We’ll use that one instead.” This time he gestured to Sir Morholt, who stood a bit straighter, eyes hard and fierce in the face of death. Merlin didn’t protest and when Leon looked at him again he saw apology in his eyes, an apology Morholt accepted with the briefest flicker of a smile and a solemn nod. Merlin did not generally play favorites with the knights, though there were those of them he was closer to than others. Like Arthur, he endeavored to treat them all fairly, but Galahad was different. Leon had once asked what it was about Galahad that turned Merlin’s expression soft and fond.

“He reminds me of Lancelot,” Merlin had said, smiling sadly. “It’s almost like having him back.” Lancelot had been dear to Merlin. It was hard to tell who had grieved more for his passing, Merlin or Guinevere. And though Arthur’s speech at Lancelot’s memorial service had attributed his sacrifice to his love for Camelot, Leon had seen something different. Because if not for the fact that Merlin had recovered from the Dorocha’s touch and come after them himself, Lancelot wouldn’t have even set foot on the Isle of the Blessed. Lancelot had done it for Gwen, for Arthur, for Camelot, but above all, he’d done it for Merlin. And Merlin had never forgotten.

-

Sir Morholt’s execution was to be a spectacle. It was to take place at noon the following day and all citizens were required to attend. Merlin slipped away at the earliest opportunity. Guilt weighed him down with the knowledge that Galahad’s life was the only one he’d defended. What must the rest of the knights think of him for such favoritism? He couldn’t see Galahad executed though. There’d been nothing he could do to save Lancelot and he would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep Galahad alive.

The servant passages led Merlin to the Arthur’s chambers, closed and locked before the surrender. Lot wasn’t the sort of person to consider the servant’s entrance by the wardrobe and so had left the place in peace. It was quiet in this part of the castle. Merlin relished in it, throwing the curtains wide to let sunlight spill across the floor, glinting off Excalibur where it lay on Arthur’s desk. Gwen had obtained it by some mysterious means. Merlin traced his fingers over the blade’s writing.

Turning away, he went to the wardrobe. It was a bit musty from disuse, but that was alright. The important thing was that it contained a bright red cloak emblazoned with the Pendragon sigil. Arthur’s cloak. Lot had ripped Merlin’s to pieces in a fit of anger. With careful hands he pulled the cloak out, giving it a gentle shake to dislodge the dust settled there. Ideally, it would be washed, but Merlin had no illusions that such a thing would be possible while Lot ruled. He donned it, feeling somehow emboldened by its light weight on his shoulders, the near silent swish as it swept over the floor. Then, Merlin reached for the second thing he’d come for. His crown. Normally it was kept in his own rooms, along with most of his clothes, but he’d specifically instructed George to bring it here and lock it in, just to be safe. What Lot would do when he saw the crown symbolizing Merlin’s status on his brow and the cloak of his husband’s house on his shoulders, Merlin didn’t know. What he did know was that it was important. Sir Morholt and the others were willing to die rather than betray their king. At the least, Merlin would honor that in whatever way he could.

Lot was already on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, which was flooded with Camelot’s citizens. He paid Merlin no mind when he stepped out into the open, not until he noticed the ripple of surprise and the whispers rising from what had once been a silent crowd. His eyes grew wide and his face turned red with his anger and he only turned away because it was right at that moment that Sir Morholt was lead to the chopping block.

“Bear witness this day,” Lot bellowed, “to what becomes of those who cling to stubborn pride. Do you have any last words, sir knight?”

Sir Morholt lifted his eyes to the balcony, ignoring Lot and looking at Merlin. There was nothing but fierce pride and loyalty in his gaze and Merlin felt paralyzed by it. “Long live the king,” Sir Morholt declared. It felt almost as if he were saying the words to Merlin, naming Merlin as his king rather than Arthur. Not knowing what else to do, Merlin nodded his head in silent acknowledgment.

Though he wanted to close his eyes and turn his head, Merlin forced himself to watch. The executioner forced Sir Morholt to his knees. He lined his ax up, then raised it above his head. As it dropped, a tear slipped down Merlin’s cheek. Lot stayed only long enough to watch Sir Morholt’s head drop into the waiting basket. Then he whirled around and stormed from the balcony. There was nothing but silence from below.

“ _Abysgian mec nu, abysgian mec nu._ ” Merlin’s voice rang out clear and strong. The eyes of the people turned to him. “ _Fore scēawian Avalon. Mid þǣre eorðan ēac wind ēac þon fȳr ēac regen. Ic wesan forþ mīn weg, munan mec. Abysgian mec nu ongēan tō þǣre eorðan fram hwelc wē spryttan ēac eft gewendan. Ic sculan overstellan, nu hit wesan mīn stefn. Ic wesan ondrǣden. Munan mec._ ” Now the people bowed their heads, recognizing the words of a prayer. Those who knew it joined him in the recitation. “ _Blōd of mīn blōd. Bān of mīn bān. Flǣscmete of mīn flǣscmete. Gehealdan mīn sāwol cwic. Ic ābīde binnan ēowere brēosthord. Ic wesan ondrǣden. Munan mec._ ” Then softly, to himself, “May the gods grant you safe passage to Avalon, Sir Morholt. And may they reward your courage and loyalty.” Only then did he turn away from the courtyard. A guard met him just inside.

“The king requests you attend him immediately.”

Merlin said nothing. It was a long walk to the chambers Lot had claimed as his own. The usurping king was pacing angrily across the floor. The moment the door closed, he changed course and made straight for Merlin, backhanding him across the face. Merlin could hear the metallic clang of his crown skittering across the floor. Lot’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“How dare you disrespect me so publicly,” Lot hissed.

“So it’s alright in private then?” Merlin couldn’t stop himself from asking. With a furious snarl Lot threw him to the ground. Arthur’s cloak was ripped from him and Merlin watched as Lot threw it into the fire.

“You are not a king,” Lot snarled. “You are not a ruler. You are a serving boy with a face pretty enough to turn an idiot king’s head, a sorcerer without magic-”

“So you are calling yourself an idiot?” He should stop. He shouldn’t provoke Lot. He was only going to make this harder on himself. “After all, clearly my face was pretty enough to turn your head.” Lot came at him with an angered roar, using fists and boots to beat his displeasure into Merlin. When he was done, he grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s hair and yanked him up to his knees.

“I will teach you to obey me,” the usurping king growled.

Merlin glared. “I will die first.”

“We’ll see about that.” Lot threw him back to the ground and stormed from the room. When the door slammed shut, Merlin let a pained whimper slip out and curled in on himself. He should have kept his mouth shut, Merlin knew that, but the anger he felt over Sir Morholt’s execution burned too strong. And it wasn’t just anger at Lot. It was anger at himself. Some leader he was. He’d barely kept the council in check, he’d surrendered to the enemy, he’d selfishly stepped forward to save one knight and abandoned the rest. He did nothing but sit beside Lot, watching as the people of a kingdom he had sworn to protect suffered because of his weakness. As if that weren’t enough, in the end none of it would even matter. Because with magic slowly dying the world would eventually crumble and everything would crumble with it. Maybe there wasn’t even a point to fighting back, not if they were all going to die anyway.

And yet, despite it all, it wasn’t in Merlin’s nature to just give up. It never had been. So he picked himself up and limped over to a chair where he sat and took stock of his injuries. The door creaked open and Merlin’s head snapped up, but it wasn’t Lot returning. It was George. When the servant saw the room was empty, he came all the way in, shutting the door behind him. In his hands was a basket filled with medical supplies. Merlin smiled.

“I thought it best to be prepared, just in case,” George said, setting the basket on the table beside Merlin.

“You thought right,” Merlin said. As he set about tending his own wounds, George went and built the fire up, shaking his head slowly at the singed remains of the cloak. When he’d finished with the fire he went to retrieve Merlin’s crown.

“I’ll lock this back up, shall I sire?” George asked.

“If you would please,” Merlin said. George bowed and left through the servants’ entrance.


	4. Chapter 4

They had two choices that Arthur agonized over the first part of their return journey. Since going back to Camelot wasn’t an option, they would need to take refuge with one of their allies. Personally, Arthur’s number one choice would have been Mithian, but Nemeth was far to the south, making it an impractical choice. Gawant was closer, but still too far. That left them with either Mercia or Gwynedd.

“My vote is for Gwynedd,” Bors said. “I know you’ve got a bit of an unfortunate history with her, sire, but Queen Annis is more…”

“Reliable?” Kay offered.

“Sure, yeah. More reliable than Bayard. He’s an opportunistic bastard if I’ve ever seen one.”

“He does really like Merlin though,” Lamorak pointed out. Bors and Kay both snorted. Bedivere chuckled. Even Arthur managed to crack a smile. But it quickly turned sad when Merlin began to crowd into his thoughts. He sensed the mood growing somber and looked up to find his knights stealing glances at him. He cleared his throat.

“I have to agree that Gwynedd is probably the better the choice,” Arthur said. “Although you are right, Bayard is quite fond of Merlin.”

“Maybe in the future you should just let Merlin take care of all the politics with Mercia,” Kay suggested.

“I doubt he would want to,” Arthur said, shaking his head. Or maybe he would, judging by the conversation they’d had the morning he’d left on this quest. He didn’t know anymore. God, when had he stopped knowing his own husband?

“You never know,” Kay insisted. “Perhaps when all this is over you should talk to him about it.”

“Talking doesn’t work out so well for us these days.” Arthur nearly slapped a hand over his mouth. What was wrong with him? That wasn’t the sort of thing he should be confiding to his knights. His words were followed by a long silence.

“Sire,” Bedivere finally said, turning to give him a weary look, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but perhaps your marriage would be a lot happier if you stopped trying to rule the kingdom by yourself.”

Arthur stopped dead, forcing Lamorak to suddenly veer around him to avoid crashing into his king. “I don’t understand.” Bedivere glanced off to the side a few times and Arthur realized he was exchanging silent looks with the other knights. The king frowned. Finally, Bedivere sighed, apparently not finding the support he’d hoped for.

“You are an excellent king, sire,” Bedivere began. “No one in Camelot would argue against it. But you must learn not to take all the burden on your own shoulders.”

“I don’t do that,” Arthur said immediately.

“You do,” Kay jumped in, ever blunt and honest, even with his king. “You fill all your free time with responsibilities for your kingdom, to the point that you take on tasks that could easily be accomplished by any of your councilors. It’s a wonder you find anytime at all to spare for Prince Merlin.”

“It is a king’s duty-”

“To push away everyone he cares about?” There was silence for a long moment as everyone looked at Lamorak. He was the quiet sort, not often the one to speak up in conversation. Lamorak cleared his throat and shuffled his feet under the scrutiny. “Begging your pardon sire,” he continued, “but I can’t help noticing you’ve fallen back on old habits and not necessarily good ones. I was under the impression that you married not just for love, but for someone who could support you during your reign. Yet you still try to take on all the responsibilities of the kingdom yourself.”

“Merlin’s had enough burdens to bear in his life,” Arthur said. “He’s already given so much for Camelot. I don’t have the right to ask more of him.” The silence in the clearing was long and shocked and broken several moments later by Bors’ scoff.

“I’m going to speak candidly, Arthur,” Bors said, deliberately dropping the use of his title. “That’s just fucking stupid.”

Arthur reeled back in surprise. “Pardon?”

“You know, we’ve all been trying to puzzle this out for months,” Bors continued. “Pretty much since the wedding, to be honest. We expected an adjustment period because, as I’m sure any of your common born knights or even Lady Guinevere can tell you, it’s not easy to go from being nothing to a noble member of a royal court. Most people don’t even notice servants. But everyone notices a ruler’s consort.”

“I’ve never actually thought about it,” Arthur admitted, suddenly unable to look anyone in the eye.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to think about it now. Honestly though, no offense Arthur, but your reasoning is just so fucking stupid.”

Arthur nodded and began walking again. “I’m starting to see that.”

-

“At long last. The great Emrys brought low, where he belongs.”

Merlin looked up from his book. Aaron leaned against the doorway, smirking, full of bravado that had fled once upon a time when he’d been faced with Merlin’s power. Calmly, Merlin marked his place and closed the book.

“It won’t last,” he said.

“Because you have some sort of delusion that you’re precious king is still alive and coming to save you?” Aaron sneered.

Merlin suppressed a flinch at the mention of Arthur, but held firm. “Because if the situation is not resolved soon then we will all be dead.” His words wiped the smirk of Aaron’s face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Aaron demanded. Merlin didn’t particularly relish the thought of joining forces with a man like Aaron, but he didn’t at all fancy his current situation. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Surely you’ve noticed that your magic is weakened,” Merlin said. Even if it weren’t obvious at first, even if it had taken a while for some sorcerers to catch on, surely by now none of them could be ignorant of the fact that something was wrong. And surely they couldn’t think it entirely a coincidence that Merlin had just happened to lose his magic right before Lot invaded. But Aaron scoffed.

“Ah yes, that. Merely a temporary side effect. A result of your ill advised attack on magic.”

Merlin was speechless for a long moment. “You think- you think _I_ did this?” he finally managed to say. “Are you completely out of your mind? What would I gain from launching an attack on magic?”

“You did it before,” Aaron said. “When you opposed Lady Morgana.”

“That wasn’t an attack on magic,” Merlin argued. “Morgana declared war on Camelot. I was just defending my home and the people I love.”

“Defending an institution that would see an end to magic!”

Merlin felt completely blindsided. “What are you even on about? Arthur doesn’t persecute magic. It’s flourished in Camelot since he took the throne.”

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” Aaron came further into the room and Merlin stood, moving away. He was acutely aware that he was at a severe disadvantage.

“Why would I want to attack magic?” Merlin asked again.

“To keep us from rising up against you,” Aaron answered simply, as if the answer were obvious and not completely insane. “But your plan has backfired, Emrys. You’re the one who’s powerless, not us.” He threw out a hand and Merlin was slammed back against the wall by magic. Terror gripped him. He automatically reached for his own magic to defend himself but it wasn’t there. Aaron crowded into his space. “You’re the one at our mercy. So I’d watch what you say.” Aaron released the magic and strode from the room. Merlin sagged against the wall, shaken.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Merlin was the only one affected like this, that most other sorcerers barely even seemed to notice that anything was wrong. Maybe they’d sensed a shift in the balance or maybe they’d noticed that their magic was a bit weaker, but none of them had grown too sick to move from their bed until they were cut off from their magic. It wasn’t fair. He was powerless. Without magic what was he worth?

-

The hearing of petitions was interrupted by the entrance of Sir Sauvage, one of Lot’s cruelest knights. Two guards followed behind him carrying a woman in chains between them. Lot waved the petitioner aside, a farmer from one of the outlying villages requesting help with bandits, and sat up. Sir Sauvage gestured and the guards threw the woman down.

“This woman was caught conspiring against you, my king,” Sir Sauvage declared.

“Is that so?” Lot looked down on the woman and sneered. “And how do you answer this accusation?”

The woman lifted her head, proud and fierce. “I am guilty only of loyalty to my king,” she answered. “If you wish to execute me for that then so be it. I would rather die a loyal citizen than live as a traitor.”

“As you wish,” Lot said. “You will be hanged tomorrow at noon. Take her away.” As the woman was dragged from the room Lot glanced towards Merlin. “Why is it that so many insist on remaining loyal to a dead man?”

“Arthur is a great king,” Merlin answered.

“Was,” Lot corrected, irritable. “And it hardly matters what sort of ruler he made when he will never again sit upon this throne.”

“As you say.”

The farmer stepped forward again. “Sire-“

“Get out,” Lot snapped. He stood and strode from the room without another word. Hesitantly, the courtiers filed out after him. Merlin stayed where he was, watching the farmer stare blankly at the steps of the dais until the throne room was empty. Only then did he rise from his throne and descend from the dais to stand before the farmer.

“Where is it you said your village was?” Merlin asked. The farmer looked up, startled, before enacting a hasty bow.

“In the Northern Plains, your majesty,” the farmer answered. “Near the border of Mercia.” Merlin nodded, thinking.

“And what of patrols? Do Lot’s men pass through often?” A plan was starting to take shape in his mind.

“Rarely, my lord. It is the main reason the bandits have targeted that area.” The farmer smiled bitterly. “Not that I expected Lot’s men to care much for the safety of a few small villages.” He glanced up at Merlin. “I am sorry, my lord. For the loss of King Arthur.”

Merlin glanced towards the large doors and then to where he knew the servant's passage was. He drew the farmer to the middle of the room. “There is rumor of knights wearing Camelot’s colors in the north,” he said softly. The farmer’s eyes widened.

“And the king?” he whispered. “Is…is the king among them?”

“I do not know,” Merlin admitted. “What I do know is that despite Lot’s claims, he has offered no proof of the king’s death, save his word. And I do not trust Lot’s word.”

The farmer nodded. He hesitated a moment. “You should know, your majesty…the people greatly admire your strength.”

“Strength?” Merlin repeated, unable to keep the surprise from his tone.

“Yes. Even…even if the rumors about the king should prove to be false, you have the love and support of the people.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say. He tried to fathom the reason for this faith everyone seemed to have in him. Gwen, Gaius, the knights, the people, all kept looking to him as if he were the answer, but Merlin had no idea what he was even doing. He struggled to keep from falling into despair and was sure he was failing, even with Annis’s words. He was just so tired. Where was he supposed to keep drawing his strength from? Not from his magic, as he would have before. Nor from his husband, who, even if he were alive, was far to the north where he could not help.

“Thank you for your kind words,” Merlin finally said.

The farmer bowed his head. “I should be on my way, sire.”

“Of course.” The farmer turned away to leave when Merlin remembered the plan he had been forming earlier. “Wait.” The farmer looked back.

“Sire?”

“Just over the border in Mercia is a town by the name of Wayford. Go to the Flaming Sickle Tavern and ask for Gilli.”

“Gilli?” the farmer asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Ask for Gilli,” Merlin repeated. “He will know how to help you.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the farmer said, a slow smile spreading across his face. He bowed one last time before departing. Merlin sighed. It had been months since Gilli had written him to say he was staying at the Flaming Sickle. Odds were he’d moved on some time ago, but it was all Merlin had to offer the farmer. Gilli’s skill as a sorcerer was formidable and he had contacts he could reach out to. If by some miracle of luck he was still in Wayford then he would be able to help the villages being besieged by bandits.

-

“It was you, wasn’t it.” There was no question there. Merlin knew it was Lot who’d poisoned the ley lines. No one else would be stupid enough to think that the solution to their problem was to destroy the entire world.

Lot didn’t even look up from his desk. The reports he was reading were about attacks on supply caravans coming from Essetir. “What was me?” Lot asked absently.

“The ley lines,” Merlin clarified. “You’re the one who poisoned them.” A noncommittal grunt as Lot stared at another report that Merlin knew said the same as the first. He’d read them all himself. “And you don’t even realize what you’ve done. You can’t have or you wouldn’t have done it.”

“What I’ve done is conquer Camelot,” Lot said testily.

“And how’s that working out for you? Managed to get those peasant rebellions under control yet?”

Lot spared a moment to send him a dark glare. “I would hardly call it a rebellion. More like a temper tantrum.”

“Well, you would know the difference. After all, temper tantrums are your speciality, aren’t they?”

Lot was up out of his chair and across the room in a few quick strides where he pinned Merlin to the wall by his throat. He didn’t put much pressure on it, just enough to make sure the threat was real. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” he growled. A sarcastic remark was on the tip of his tongue, but Merlin bit it back. Nothing would be more stupid than continuing to antagonize Lot. All it would do was get him some form of punishment. A beating, a flogging, being thrown back in the pit. Merlin suppressed a shudder. He didn’t want to go back in that pit. Slowly, Lot removed his hand and then returned to his seat. Merlin stayed a moment longer, but Lot seemed intent on ignoring him now. Just like a child. Don’t want to deal with a problem? Just ignore it until it goes away. And if it doesn’t go away, just beat it into submission. It was crude, but so far it was effective.

A guard immediately stepped up beside Merlin when he left Lot’s chambers. It used to be two. The guard followed him down the corridor, down flights of stairs, past servants with their heads down in a way Merlin hadn’t seen since Uther’s reign. Finally they emerged into the royal gardens. From what he’d been told Uther had had the gardens made for Ygraine and she used to spend hours our here among the colorful flowers. Some of them were wilting now, Merlin noted. It was hard to tell whether it was due to lack of care, as Lot didn’t seem to even be aware the castle had gardens, or if it had to do with the ley lines. Merlin loved the gardens. They were always peaceful and quiet, making them a good place to sit and think.

-

The first report of dying fields was expected, but Merlin still closed his eyes and turned his head away, pained. Beside him, Lot scoffed at the weary peasant and immediately sent him away. Merlin steeled himself and looked at the king.

"This is a sign," he said softly, trying to keep the rest of the room from hearing his words.

"A sign of what?" Lot grumbled. "That these peasants don't know how to work their own fields? That is hardly my concern."

"It has nothing to do with a man's ability to farm," Merlin said, "and everything to do with the fact that you poisoned the land. Surely you cannot be so ignorant as to not realize there would be consequences for such a thing." Lot's hand found his wrist and squeezed. Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, biting his lip against the pain.

"You will be silent," Lot growled. "Or we will test whether you can survive the pit a second time." Merlin swallowed back every angry retort he wanted to make. He didn't want to go anywhere near that pit again, unless it was to see it filled with dirt so that it could never be used again. His vision came to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of the vivid picture of dead fields for miles, water drying up, the world falling to ruin until it could no longer hold itself together and broke apart. When Lot declared that he was finished hearing petitions he rose from the throne and swept from the room, giving no indication that he wanted Merlin to follow. Merlin took advantage and immediately went in search of Gwen, finding her in the stables. No one else was there, not even a stableboy mucking stalls or mending saddles.

"It's happening isn't it," Gwen said quietly, absently stroking the nose of a horse. Hengroen, one of Arthur's. Young and proud and not yet very fond of listening to his rider, which was part of why Arthur hadn’t ridden him much. Hengroen had always liked Merlin though and as he approached the young horse turned from Gwen and stretched his head out. Merlin smiled.

"Arthur told me he was considering just giving Hengroen to you, since he likes you so much," Gwen commented.

"I already have a horse," Merlin pointed out.

"Corra is lovely," Gwen agreed. "But she is getting on in years." She frowned. "You never answered me. Fields suddenly dying like this is a sign isn't it."

The smile dropped from Merlin's face. "Yes."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing. Except have faith in Arthur. "

Gwen's sigh was frustrated. "Healing the damage Lot did the ley lines won't stop that village from starving."

"No, it won't." Merlin looked at Gwen. "Which is why the farmer won't return empty handed. There's more than enough grain in the stores."

"Someone will notice," Gwen said. "And when they tell Lot, he'll be furious."

"Let him be furious. I'm not going to stand here and let people starve when there's something I can do about it. It's my job to protect my people, not cower in fear."

Something changed in Gwen's expression. Merlin couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but it may have been something approximating pride. "Then I'll see to the arrangements," she said. After a moment of consideration, she curtsied. "Your majesty." Merlin opened his mouth to correct her, to remind her she was his friend and there was no need to use his title, but he stopped himself. Because the title didn't feel cumbersome and awkward, not anymore. It didn't feel like a too large cloak that he was hesitant to wear, for fear of getting tangled in it. It felt right, like he'd finally earned it. And now he could see the expression on Gwen's face for what it was and it was pride. He was Camelot's rightful ruler, at least while Arthur was away. Her people were his to protect, his to care for. Up until now, Merlin had thought of each of his decisions as failures. He'd barely kept the council in check, but was it any wonder when he had so little confidence in himself? He'd surrendered, but not out of cowardice. He'd done it to protect the people of Camelot as best he could, to keep them from being slaughtered.

Gwen departed with her back straight and her head held high, pride in every line of her body. Pride that he had inspired in her. Merlin remembered the knights, lined up before the throne, refusing to accept Lot as their sovereign. But it hadn't been because of Arthur. When Sir Morholt had been led to the chopping block and given one last chance to pledge his allegiance to Lot, he had declared that he would rather die than betray his king. Merlin had assumed he referred to Arthur, but Sir Morholt's eyes had been on him. Merlin still didn't think of himself as a king and he wouldn't until he had absolute proof that Arthur was dead. But it didn't matter what he thought. It mattered what the people thought. And with Arthur's fate uncertain, they looked to Merlin as their leader, their king. It wasn't Arthur they were taking strength from in Camelot's dark hours, it was Merlin. It was him the knights continued to swear their allegiance to, it was him the people turned to for protection from Lot's cruelty. He'd spent all this time getting hung up on the wrong things, that he wasn't of noble birth and therefore people wouldn't respect him or that he lacked experience or knowledge or any number of things that would make him a competent leader. None of that mattered. What mattered was that he loved Camelot, he loved her people, and he would gladly give his life in her defense. He was more than his magic and destiny. Everyone else had already seen that and it was high time Merlin saw it as well.

-

The port town of Tynemouth in Rhegad was bustling with activity. Before entering, Arthur had decided it would be best to pack away their cloaks. Even so, five armed men of some obvious wealth drew far more attention than any of them were comfortable with.

“I don’t like the way that lot is eyeing us,” Bors said. Arthur glanced in the direction the knight was glaring in. A group of men were playing cards on an abandoned crate not far from them. Every so often a few of them would throw a considering look in their direction. One of them wouldn’t stop fiddling with his knives.

“Are you saying you don’t think you could take them?” Kay teased. Bors elbowed him.

“I could take ‘em just fine,” he growled. “Just would prefer not to. Would draw too much attention.”

“That it would,” Arthur agreed. “So please, Kay, no trouble.”

“Me?” Kay put a hand to his chest looking wounded. “Cause trouble? I am appalled that you think so poorly of me!” He dodged another elbow from Bors. “Really though, how long does it take to buy passage on a ship? Bedivere and Lamorak have been gone ages.”

“Not even an hour,” Bors corrected. “Don’t be impatient.”

“Oh yeah, it’s not like we don’t still have to figure out how to get to the Isle of the Blessed so the high priestess can fix the ley lines and then fight of Lot’s entire army, which, according to Lamorak, is at least five times the size of Camelot’s.”

“It can’t be that big. Where would he even find that many men?”

“Kind of irrelevant, don’t you think? I mean he’s already got them.”

“And what if someone else decides they want to raise a massive army and wreck havoc on Camelot or one of our allies? Seems pretty relevant to me.”

Arthur tuned out the bickering. Bors and Kay could go at it all day and it was usually best to let them, so long as they weren’t needed for anything. It wasn’t long before Bedivere and Lamorak returned.

“Found a ship headed for Caerwent,” Bedivere reported. “Doesn’t leave until the morning though. Sorry, but it was the best we could get with what we could afford to spare. Other ships wanted more for a last minute booking.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur said. They were starting to run low on funds. The unexpected expense of staying at an inn while they recovered from the ambush along with the physician’s fees had made a dent in their gold that they hadn’t planned for.

“I still say we were overcharged as is,” Lamorak said.

Bedivere shrugged. “What’s done is done. Not a lot of ships seem all that keen to go to Caerwent anyway. They’ve heard there’s trouble brewing down south and don’t want any part in it if it spreads into Gwynedd.”

“I don’t blame them,” Arthur said. “I doubt Lot intends to stop at conquering Camelot. Well, let’s go then. We’ll have to find some place to stay for the night.”

-

Merlin had thought he’d seen the last of pyres in the citadel’s courtyard when Arthur had ascended to the throne. He’d thought he’d never have to watch the flames lick at the sky, smell the smoke that permeated the air for days afterwards, hear the terrified screams of the people trapped there. The only difference now was that those condemned to the flames weren’t charged with the crime of magic. They were charged with treason against Camelot’s new king. This was what Lot had decided to use his new sorcerer allies for. Ferreting out dissenters. Merlin had hoped their magic would be too weak to use it effectively like this, but the number of recent arrests said otherwise.

“I’m getting tired of all this rebellion,” Lot growled. “What do they think it’s going to accomplish? Arthur Pendragon is dead. Their deaths are pointless.”

“Not in their minds,” Merlin said.

Lot scowled. “I’ll end it soon enough. Now, come.” He stomped from the balcony. Merlin didn’t follow him until he’d said a quiet prayer to those who had most recently given their lives fighting for Camelot.

-

Knights wearing Annis’s colors met them almost as soon as they stepped off the ship in Caerwent two days later. His own knights went for their swords, but Arthur gestured for them to stand down.

“Your majesty,” said one of the knights, stepping forward to bow. “Our spy in Rheged told us of your intention to sail for Gwynedd. Queen Annis has instructed us to escort you to the capitol.”

“Very well,” Arthur agreed. Kay gave him a thin lipped look and the king didn’t blame him. It was of the utmost importance that Lot remain ignorant of their continued survival and that they were traveling back towards Camelot. But their options were limited. In any case, Arthur had good faith that Annis would never betray them.

It was after sunset by the time they arrived in the capitol. Though the end of the journey had been hard, the cover of darkness was an asset. It helped them travel through the city in secret. In the courtyard they dismounted. Arthur took a moment to feel relief at having made it to one of their allies. What a pleasure it would be to be able to sleep without one eye open.

“As the hour is late,” said the head of their escort, “my queen has instructed that you are to be given food and drink and allowed to rest. She will receive you in the morning after breakfast, my lord.”

“Queen Annis is very kind,” Arthur said.

“We are all grateful to find you alive and well, my lord,” the knight continued. “None in this kingdom, or indeed in any other, has been happy with Lot’s actions. Word is, even Odin has expressed his discontent over the events.” Arthur raised an eyebrow and heard one of his knights suppress an amused and surprised snort.

“I’ll leave you to your rest, my lord,” the knight said.

They were shown to a suite of rooms that looked to have just been cleaned, fires crackling in the hearths, food laid out on the tables. They congregated in Arthur’s room.

“We made it,” Kay said out loud hours later. The plates had been picked clean and they’d moved on to the wine. “We’re in Gwynedd. Alive.”

“More importantly,” Bedivere said, “we got the stone.”

“Now all we have to do is somehow get to the Isle of the Blessed without getting caught by Lot’s men,” Bors grumbled.

“Don’t spoil the evening Bors,” Kay said, throwing a bread crumb at the other knight. Had there been any food left it may have devolved into a food fight. Arthur just sat back in his chair, watching his men, trying not to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow he would speak to Annis and hopefully learn the fate of his kingdom and his people, the fate of his husband. And then they would start planning. But for now, he was determined to relax.

-

Annis received him in the council chambers with a smile and a hug that surprised Arthur. The king hesitated only a moment before returning it. When Annis pulled away she took a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Arthur to join her.

“Word is being sent to the rest of our allies as we speak,” Annis said. “They will be glad to know you are alive and safe.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Arthur said. Normally, there would be many more pleasantries, but Arthur couldn’t wait. “What news of Camelot?” Annis grew serious.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “How much do you know?”

“That Lot attacked, but nothing more.”

Annis settled deeper into her chair. “The way I hear it, Lot’s forces outnumbered Camelot’s five to one. He moved swiftly and quietly over the border and attacked in the night. After a few hours of battle Prince Merlin surrendered. My understanding is that if he hadn’t, Lot would have slaughtered every man, woman, and child in Camelot.”

Arthur closed his eyes, pained. He didn’t begrudge Merlin his decision to surrender. There was no doubt in his mind that Merlin had made the decision in the best interest of Camelot’s people. “And what of Merlin?” he asked. He almost didn’t want to, afraid of what Annis would tell him.

“Alive,” Annis said, but then she hesitated.

“What?” Arthur prompted.

“I was in Camelot two weeks ago,” Annis finally said. “Lot has been demanding that all of Camelot’s allies come and swear loyalty to him. While there, I managed to find time to speak with Merlin in private.”

“And?” Arthur became aware that he was on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in anticipation.

“He is holding on. But only just. Lot has forced Merlin to marry him.”

Arthur’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. “Lot has married my husband,” he repeated, just to be sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yes.”

“I cannot decide whether I wish to simply cut off his head or ensure his death is slow and painful.” Deep down, he couldn’t say he was terribly surprised. Not after Lot had displayed hints of his interest during the one and only visit Camelot’s royalty had paid to Essetir. Nevertheless, it angered him. “What sort of plans are being made to overthrow him?”

“Planning is difficult,” Annis admitted. “Lot has ensured he has a strong army that outnumbers any one kingdom and it is clear that he can invade swiftly. If he has any suspicion that we are plotting against him he will attack and we may not be able to move quickly enough to stop him. That being said, we do have a system set up to send and receive covert messages. We even have ways of getting them to Camelot.”

“You can send messages to Camelot?” Arthur sat up straighter in his chair.

“It isn’t easy, but yes.”

“Can they-” Arthur cleared his throat. “Are they able to reach Merlin?”

“Yes,” Annis confirmed. “In fact, I have ensured that the news of your safety and wellbeing will reach him as well as our allies.”

Arthur nodded absently, thinking. But he quickly shook the thoughts from his mind. There were more important matters to discuss. “Defeating Lot will not be so easy as overthrowing his invading army,” Arthur said. “Do you know of the recent state of magic?”

“Your husband mentioned that Lot had poisoned the earth’s magic and that is why he cannot use his own,” Annis said. “He also said that if the damage is not reversed then the consequences will be severe.”

“This is the reason for the quest that took me from Camelot in the first place,” Arthur said. “A high priestess at the Isle of the Blessed said that to undo the poisoning of the magic she required a special item that could only be obtained from a sacred pool far in the north.”

“And you’ve obtained it?”

“I have. With this item, the high priestess can perform a ritual that will cleanse the poison from the earth, preventing the coming disaster.”

“I assume this ritual must be performed on the Isle of the Blessed,” Annis guessed.

Arthur nodded, adding, “On the night of a full moon.”

Annis’s frown was displeased. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“It gives us just enough,” Arthur said. “You can’t tell me all of you have just been sitting here doing nothing this entire time.”

“No,” Annis agreed, “we haven’t. Lot may claim peaceful intentions towards all those who were forced to swear loyalty to him, but he’s greedy. It’s only a matter of time before he turns his attention to one of our kingdoms.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure and stop him before he can.”

Annis smiled. “Oh we will.”

-

To Merlin’s confusion, the tray on which George brought him his breakfast that morning had a letter hidden under the plate.

“It arrived from Gwynedd just this morning,” George said.

“A message?” Merlin asked, frowning in confusion. They’d just received a message about Arthur’s arrival in Gwynedd. “What could Annis want right now?”

“It isn’t from Queen Annis, sire,” George said. He was...smiling. Merlin didn’t often see George smiling, not like this at least.

“Then who…?”

“I’ve been told it’s from the king.”

The king. Arthur. This was a message from Arthur. Merlin forgot breakfast. It was tempting to open the letter right then and there, but someone could barge in at any moment. No, Merlin needed to go somewhere private. The royal chambers. Lot still hadn’t managed to find a way in and had dismissed it some time ago. He wouldn’t be disturbed there.

Merlin practically ran through the servant passages to get to the royal chambers. Inside he unfolded the letter with trembling hands and nearly sobbed with relief when he recognized Arthur’s handwriting.

_My dear Merlin,  
I am sure someone must have told you this by now but I want to make sure you know. Though Lot’s men did attack us in the far north and not all of my knights survived, I myself am alive and well. As well, we have obtained the necessary item for the ritual._

_But more than that, more than anything, I want you to know how proud I am of you. I have been told some of the vile acts Lot has committed since taking Camelot and I have been told of your courage and bravery during these trying times. I know you never had much faith in yourself as a leader of people and that I have not done my part to encourage you. I wanted too much to protect you, but you were right. You do not need to be coddled. I should know from my own experience how important it is to have someone you love believe in you and I am deeply sorry that I failed to give you that. I do not blame you for interpreting my actions as doubt. You have an amazing ability to inspire people to be the best they can. I am more proud of you than I could ever put into words and have always admired your strength._

_Lastly, I want simply to say that I love you. I love you with all my heart. And I promise that you will not have to suffer much longer._

_With all my love,  
Arthur_

A tear splattered beside the signature. The laugh that slipped out was more a gasping sob. It wasn’t that Merlin had doubted the message from Annis stating that Arthur and four of his knights had arrived in Gwynedd, safe and sound. Annis would never lie to him about something so important as his husband’s life. But there’d been a part of him, the part that had been chipped away at by the weeks of abuse he’d suffered at Lot’s hands, that hadn’t quite been able to wrap itself around the hope he’d started to feel again. But here it was. Absolute proof. A letter written in Arthur’s hand. And it wasn’t just that.

The words were Arthur’s, spoken from the heart with a truth and honesty that Merlin was only just now realizing was the missing piece in their relationship, the thing that had been driving them apart since their marriage. He’d thought Arthur’s words of encouragement before he’d left had been an odd contradiction to his actions. No matter how many times he said he had faith in Merlin, he’d never shown it. He’d sheltered Merlin, protected him, not truly understanding that his actions were doing more to hurt than to help. Merlin shook his head and smiled. It figured it would take a situation as drastic as the impending end of the world for his stubborn husband to pull his head out of his arse and actually communicate. That would be the first thing they worked on, Merlin decided, when they’d undone all the damage Lot had done the kingdom with his cruel reign. Communication.

Carefully, Merlin tucked the letter away in a drawer of Arthur’s desk and left the royal chambers. He shouldn’t have gone there at all during the day when someone could easily spot him and he had no purpose. But the thought of waiting to read the letter had been too much to bear.

-

It took time to get a war council together when it all had to be done in secret. Arthur was restless and so were his knights. Every night he stared up at the moon, mentally marking off another day until it was full and bright. It didn’t help that they couldn’t even take the most direct route to the Isle of the Blessed because it meant going straight through Camelot. No, they had to travel down through Gwynedd, then Dyfed, and finally through Gawant before they could risk crossing the border for the last leg of their journey. They would ride hard and fast, but it would still take a good few days. The absolute last thing Arthur wanted was to miss this full moon and have to delay the retaking of Camelot by an entire month. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. And from the sound of it, neither would Merlin.

Elena was the first to arrive, her journey being the easiest. In her excitement over seeing Arthur she completely forgot to greet Annis and breezed right past her to throw her arms around Arthur. Annis hardly seemed offended, more amused. Next to arrive was Bayard, creeping along the Northern Plains just shy of the border with The Perilous Lands. He first greeted Annis, then bowed before Arthur and expressed his relief over his safety. Mithian was last to arrive, having to travel all the way from the south. Like Elena, she hugged Arthur. When they parted he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes.

They wasted no time. Annis gave Mithian long enough to eat a quick meal and change from her travel clothes, then called for the war council.

“I think we can all agree that the situation is dire,” Annis began when everyone had settled. Arthur had brought Bedivere with him and the two of them shared a long suffering look. “Lot controls Camelot and his army is sizable. As well, I am sure we have all noticed the land beginning to fade.”

“It has to do with magic,” Elena spoke up. “I know it must. I know a few sorcerers and they say their power is waning.”

Arthur stood, drawing the room’s attention. “Elena is right,” he said. “The situation is this: before his invasion, Lot performed some sort of ritual to poison the ley lines. As of now, magic is dying. It’s only a matter of time before we all perish along with the land.” There were concerned murmurs around the room, but nobody interrupted. “I went to the Isle of the Blessed and learned of a ritual that can be performed to reverse the damage, but it required a special token only attainable in the far north.”

“Well we’re screwed then,” someone snorted, one of Annis’s advisors. He withered under his queen’s glare.

“No, we’re not,” Arthur corrected. “My absence from Camelot has been because I went on a quest to the north.” He retrieved the stone from his pocket, holding it up for everyone to see. “I have the token. Now all that remains is to take it to the high priestess at the Isle of the Blessed. On the night of a full moon she will perform the ritual and magic will be saved.”

“Full moon,” Bayard repeated. “That doesn’t leave us much time for planning, does it.”

“Oh please,” Mithian said. “We’ve all been prepared to go to war ever since we found out what happened in Camelot. This meeting is so we can consolidate our plans and come up with a cohesive strategy to defeat Lot’s army.”

From there the discussion moved into tactics. A part of Arthur ached to give away information that would help them infiltrate his citadel, but he had no choice.

“Magic will give us a huge edge,” Bayard said when they’d ironed out a plan for surrounding the city. “Do we know of any sorcerers who would lend a hand?”

“Merlin would know,” Arthur said. “He has various connections with the magical community.”

“We’ll get a message to him,” Annis said. She gestured a page boy forward, jotted a quick letter down on a scroll, and passed it on. The page boy bobbed a quick bow and all but ran from the room. Speed was of the essence here.

“Lot has sorcerers of his own, correct?” Mithian asked.

“Former allies of Morgana, according to Merlin,” Annis confirmed. “They don’t seem to be aware of what’s going on and actually think Merlin is at fault for their waning magic.”

Arthur shook his head. Fools. They may not see eye to eye with Merlin, but this was ignorance of a whole different kind.

-

Trial and error had shown that the kitchens were the safest place to discuss business away from prying eyes. They were busy most of the day, making them loud and crowded, and it helped a great deal that Audrey and anyone who worked under her hated Lot. Merlin almost felt bad for the number of times he’d given her trouble over the years. Almost. She had smacked him a fair few times with that wooden spoon, sometimes when he hadn’t even done anything yet. In any case, when there was any need to discuss clandestine information Audrey was perfectly happy to leave Merlin and whoever he needed to speak with in a secluded corner where their quiet conversation would be drowned out by the work around them. This time it was Gwen.

“A message for you from Annis,” she said, handing it over. Merlin frowned, but took it. He didn’t deal much with messages, mostly because getting them to him was a pain. Lot had slacked off recently in ensuring he was followed everywhere he went, but Merlin wasn’t of a mind to endanger their efforts by testing his freedom too much. Annis’s message was only a few words long. Merlin took a moment to translate the code and then let out a quiet ‘ah’ of understanding. A war council was at this moment convened in Gwynedd and the topic of how magic might best be used in battle had come up. Merlin looked up, question on the tip of his tongue, but Gwen was already holding a quill out to him.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, flashing her a quick smile. He jotted down a few names and, after some hesitance, where to find them. He would just have to hope that, should the message fall into the wrong hands, the code would be enough to keep the information secret. Time was of the essence. Merlin didn’t want them to have to waste any of it tracking people down when he knew where they would most likely be found. He handed the message and the quill back to Gwen, but she didn’t leave right away.

“You seem in much higher spirits,” Gwen said.

Merlin shrugged. He was still riding the high from Arthur’s letter. It almost certainly wouldn’t last though. “Send this off as quickly as possible,” he said instead of answering. Then he got up and left, running straight into Sir Sauvage the moment he stepped into the corridor. Sir Sauvage grabbed Merlin’s wrists tight enough to make them bruise later.

“And what were you doing in there?” the knight asked coldly.

“I was hungry,” Merlin said. “What other reason would one have for being in the kitchens, where all the food is prepared?” Instead of answering, Sir Sauvage shoved his way into the kitchens, still holding one of Merlin’s wrists and dragging him along.

“And just what do you think you’re doing in my kitchen?” Audrey demanded, turning away from where she’d been supervising one of the scullery maids to brandish her wooden spoon threateningly. Gwen was nowhere to be seen.

“Merely making sure nothing...untoward is happening in here,” Sir Sauvage said. His pleasant smile was more of a threatening grimace, baring his teeth.

“The only thing ‘untoward’ happening in here is his majesty’s theft of my freshly baked dinner rolls,” Audrey lied smoothly. The irritation in her tone sounded real enough and Merlin thought she must have been drawing on memories of all the times he actually had stolen her food, back before he’d become a member of the royal family. Sir Sauvage sneered, unhappy at not having caught anyone at anything illegal, and dragged Merlin back into the corridor. He threw Merlin against the wall and pinned him there.

“One of these days I’ll catch you at your little games, your majesty,” Sir Sauvage snarled. “And I will take great pleasure in seeing you punished for it.” He stepped back, straightening out his clothes. “King Lot requests your presence in his chambers.”

Merlin resisted the urge to whack his shoulder against Sir Sauvage’s as he passed, but only just.

-

The day was bright and cold, unusual, seeing as winter wasn’t yet upon them. Arthur could only guess it had to do with the ley lines and hoped it wasn’t a sign that they were too late. Out in the courtyard, Elena and the small guard she’d come with were already mounted and awaiting Arthur’s party. He checked Llamrei’s saddle and swung himself up on her back. Elena was beaming at him.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“I know I’ve said this to you a million times already,” Elena said, “but I really am just so happy that you’re alive and safe.” Arthur returned her smile with a small one of his own.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I think that’s enough dallying around.” Elena gathered straightened, ready to start the journey back to Gawant. “Are your knights prepared?”

“Ye-“ Arthur paused, frowning. “It would seem not. Where’s Kay?” Bors shrugged, as did Lamorak. Bedivere just rolled his eyes. A moment later Kay came stumbling out of the castle and Arthur shook his head. Sometimes he couldn’t decide who was worse, Kay or Gwaine.

“Sorry, sorry!” Kay said, scrambling up onto his horse. He nodded at both Arthur and Elena. “Apologies sire, you highness. Was a bit waylaid.” He glared at Bors when the other knight snorted. “But I’m here now, so. Shall we?”

Their journey was to be swift and quiet as possible. Arthur and his knights would travel with Elena’s party to the capitol of Gawant, where they would split off and continue until they reached Gedref. Only then would they cross over into Camelot to finish their journey. If all went well, they should arrive with one day to spare before the full moon. Arthur had little concern about traveling through Gwynedd and Gawant. It was Camelot that worried him. According to Merlin, patrol activity was heavy in an attempt to stop peasant uprisings. Traveling there would be treacherous.


	5. Chapter 5

What progress had been made in restoring the Isle of the Blessed to its former glory had been undone by Lot’s actions. The wildflowers had wilted, the grass turning dull and lifeless, stone crumbling from the walls of the ruins. Carwen awaited them by the altar. She was thinner, the color drained from her face, but she smiled when she saw them, relieved.

“Your quest has been successful,” she said.

“Indeed it has,” Arthur confirmed. Carefully, he drew the stone from the pouch he’d hidden it in and presented it to the high priestess. Carwen took it reverently. “Now what?”

“We must wait for the moon to be at its highest point,” Carwen explained. “After that it is simply a matter of performing the ritual. It will take time for the ley lines to be completely healed, depending on how far the darkness has spread, but they will be healed. For now, rest. I will use this time to ensure I have everything prepared for tonight.”

-

Arthur startled awake and was groping around for his sword before he registered that it was Bedivere who’d woken him.

“The high priestess says she’s ready,” Bedivere told him.

“Right.” Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Climbing to his feet Arthur followed Bedivere back to the altar room. Kay, Bors, and Lamorak were already there, watching as Carwen bent over a bowl resting on the altar, her expression intent as she worked.

The bowl was made of smooth glass, perfectly shaped. Arthur wondered if it had been formed from magic. Carwen murmured a spell over it and the bowl filled with crystal clear water. Gently she set the stone in the water. With only the moon’s pale light to go by Arthur couldn’t be sure, but he thought the stone dissolved into the water, turning it a faded silver. Carwen glanced up, checking the position of the moon, and nodded to herself. Carefully lifting the bowl in her hands, she stepped away from the altar until she was in the middle of the space. She tilted her head back to the sky. The words of the spell rang through the air, pure and strong. When it was finished, Carwen tipped the bowl and poured the shimmering contents onto the earth. There was quiet for a few tense, uncertain moments.

“Is that it?” Kay finally asked. Carwen glanced at him with a raised brow.

“That’s it,” she confirmed.

“I was expecting something a bit more flashy,” Kay muttered, sounding disappointed.

“The water infused with the power of the goddess will sink through the earth until it finds the ley line that runs beneath the Isle,” Carwen explained. “Hardly the sort of thing that needs to be…flashy.” Kay ducked his head in embarrassment, elbowing Bors a moment later when he caught his mocking smirk.

“How long will it take the ley lines to heal?” Arthur asked.

“A few days, at least,” Carwen said. “It will take time for it to reach all of the poison, but the power of the goddess will hurry it along some.” She set the bowl back on the altar. “You should rest, King Arthur. After all, this is only one leg of your journey.”

-

Merlin jolted awake, confused and disorientated. It took him a moment to remember that he was alone in his own chambers, because Lot was still angry with him for what he’d said two days past. He felt strange, like there was a faint tingling under his skin. Gasping, Merlin remembered that tonight was the full moon needed to perform the cleansing ritual. He tore back the covers of his bed and stumbled over to the window, throwing back the curtains to confirm that a full moon hung in the sky, bright and round. His fingers trembled as he pulled at the knot holding the charm around his wrist, both nervous and excited. He set it on the window ledge.

Immediately, his magic flooded through him. Merlin let out a peal of delighted laughter, eyes wide with amazement. His magic didn’t feel quite…right, not yet. The damage done to the ley lines would no doubt need some time to heal, though hopefully not more than a few days. He could worry about that later though. For now, Merlin relished in the feeling of his magic free again. He let it spread out through the room, running along the walls of the castle, across the floor, over every object it came across. He let it stretch out into the cool night air, tasting the gentle breeze blowing through the courtyard, slithering through the grass. Camelot was unhappy with an usurper sitting upon her throne and Merlin soothed her with his magic, promising that soon Lot would be defeated and Camelot’s rightful king would once again sit upon his throne. Merlin would make sure of it.

-

Merlin wasn’t skeptical about the plan, not exactly. It was just that there were so many variables and so little information available to him that he couldn’t help thinking of all the ways it could go wrong. At least one part of the plan had gone right though. Arthur had made it to the Isle of the Blessed in time for the full moon. He’d almost kept the charm on, just in case anyone would be suspicious of why he’d suddenly decided to stop wearing it, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give his magic up again. Besides, even if it was finicky and unreliable at the moment it was proving useful. So long as he wasn’t reckless about it, Merlin was confident he could remain unnoticed by Lot’s sorcerers.

News of the next part of the plan being successfully put into play came in the midst of one of Lot’s council sessions. A messenger burst into the throne room where Lot liked to conduct so much of his business, whether it was appropriate to or not, and declared, “An army gathers in the north!”

“An army?” Lot repeated. “Another one of those peasant rebellions? I hardly see how this is news worthy of interrupting my council.”

“Not peasants, sire,” the messenger said. “The armies of Queen Annis and Lord Bayard meet in the Northern Plains as we speak.”

Merlin had to suppress a smirk when Lot scoffed and said, “Gwynedd? Mercia? Even with their strength combined exactly what do they expect to accomplish?”

“Both Queen Annis and Lord Bayard are keen strategists,” Merlin spoke up. “And their knights are strong. An allied attack from them hardly seems like the sort of thing to be dismissed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lot growled, but he didn’t so much as glance in Merlin’s direction. “Fine. If they want to try and defy me, fine. I’ll prove the foolishness of their actions. Ready the men! Tomorrow they march for the Northern Plains!”

“All of the men, sire?”

“Of course not! That hardly seems necessary, does it? A third of my army will more than suffice.”

Exactly as Arthur had predicted. Sometimes it frightened Merlin how accurate Arthur could be in his analysis of enemy commanders.

-

It felt odd to wear someone else’s colors, to blend in with the rest of Mithian’s knights. Arthur was used to leading men into battle, not following them. But it was necessary. The longer Lot remained unaware that Arthur was alive, the better. He felt restless. Llamrei picked up on his nervous energy and tossed her head, stomped her hoof. Mithian’s army was ready to march. The forward parties in charge of taking down any scouts and patrols had already gone on ahead. As soon as Odin’s supplemental forces arrived, which should be any time now, they would start for Camelot’s southern border.

Arthur had wanted to be part of one of the forward groups, arguing that he’d grown up in Camelot and therefore, of everyone involved in the allied invasion, had the most intimate knowledge of the kingdom and now to sneak through it. The others had disagreed though, with Mithian gently pointing out that Arthur made an excellent point, but the flipside was that if any of the scouts or patrols escaped there was a chance that they’d tell Lot about the continued existence of Camelot’s rightful king. Part of their plan involved only revealing Arthur at the last possible second. Since Lot had been under the impression all these months that he was dead it would hopefully knock him off balance for a bit and allow them to press their advantage. Arthur couldn’t argue with that. He was the one who had emphasized that as part of their plan. The longer they could keep Lot off balance, the less chance that he would manage to mount a counterattack that would drive them back.

Lamorak came up beside him. “It almost doesn’t feel real,” he said quietly. “Everything seemed so hopeless for a while. But this is really happening. Tomorrow we’ll cross the border and head for the city.”

“Have I ever told you you talk too much,” Bors growled, appearing on Lamorak’s other side. “Because you do.” Lamorak did the most childish thing and stuck his tongue out at his fellow knight. Arthur couldn’t restrain an amused snort. It drew some of the tension out of him, calmed his anxiety. This would work. He wouldn’t accept any other outcome.

Odin’s army arrived within the hour. Odin himself wasn’t with them, having taken the majority of his forces across the sea to lend support to Elena. Gawant’s military wasn’t as strong as Nemeth’s. Mithian offered to give the newly arrived soldiers some time to rest, but General Aulric insisted there was no need. Time was something they couldn’t afford to waste.

-

Merlin froze when he heard the door to his chambers opening. It couldn’t be George. He’d left with the laundry only a short time ago and Merlin knew from experience that it took longer than this to wash it. The steps were too heavy to be Gwen. Merlin turned around, finding Lot standing just inside the door, watching him.

“Don’t you have other matters to attend to?” Merlin asked, trying to focus back on his task.

“They can wait,” Lot said. He wondered closer, looking around the room as if he hadn’t been in there countless times before. “I’ve been thinking. It’s time I expanded my empire.”

Merlin abandoned his task and frowned. “Empire?”

“I’m a man of big ambitions,” Lot continued. “High King of all Albion. It has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?”

Anger darkened Merlin’s expression.

“You are not a king,” Merlin sneered. He knew he should shut up, knew this was the best way to get himself thrown back into that pit or skewered on the end of a blade or any other number of horrible things, but he was beyond caring. “You are an overgrown child. You’re jealous of all those around you and think they look down on you. Or worse, that they don’t look at all.”

And in that moment he saw past all the bluster and the mocking cruelty to a child locked deep inside where no one could hurt him. A child who had never had enough love, never had enough attention, had always been shunted aside for someone else and was sick of it. But the moment passed. Merlin cared little for whatever Lot had suffered during his youth. It did not excuse the crimes he had committed against Camelot and it would not stop Merlin from ordering the man’s very public and humiliating execution when he had his kingdom back.

“So you attack them,” he continued. “You covet their wealth, their family, their lives, everything they own because if you could just be them then everything will fall into place. But it’s a lie. You will never be Arthur, nor any of the other’s whom you hate. You will always be a sad, pathetic little boy who plays at being a conqueror.” He braced himself to be hit, to be thrown, to be dragged from the room, but nothing happened. Lot stood staring at him, eyes haunted, face pale. Merlin’s words had left him deeply unsettled. Merlin was good at reading people, every liar had to be. The words rang true to Lot and paralyzed him. Finally, he cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and strode from the room. Merlin almost laughed.

That night, Merlin was surprised when he went to Lot’s chambers only to be told by a guard at the door that the king had no desire for this company. Far be it from him to complain. Besides, he had a lot of things he needed to do.

-

They met the druids at the remains of an outpost only an hour inside the border. According to their leader, a woman named Forridel, the outpost had been burned down weeks ago by the rebellion in the south. Lot’s men hadn’t managed to reclaim it since.

“Right,” Mithian said. They were gathered in a tent with, Mithian’s generals, Odin’s, those selected to lead the individual groups of druids. “This is it. From here on out we split into smaller groups, hidden by the druids. Silence and secrecy are of the utmost importance. The scouting teams should have taken care of any obstacles, such as patrols. And if Queen Annis and Lord Bayard have done their part- and I don’t doubt they have- then Lot’s attention will be to the north. Any questions?” No one said anything so Mithian began splitting up hers and Odin’s men between the generals, letting Forridel handle the druids. Arthur and his four knights would remain with Mithian.

-

Night had just fallen when they finally joined up with the forward groups in the forest. There were no campfires. Despite the druids’ magic they couldn’t risk anyone spotting so much as a wisp of smoke, not this close to the city. While Mithian’s men sat in clusters to ward off the evening chill and shared cold rations, Arthur crept through the forest until he was staring at the walls of his city. At its center rose the citadel, windows lit by flickering candlelight. He couldn’t help but wonder what Merlin was doing at that moment. Having dinner, perhaps. Or making last minute preparations, if he was alone. For a moment Arthur was seized by the urge to sneak in and find Merlin. He quickly shook it off.

Arthur didn’t know how long he stood there. He only managed to shake himself from the melancholy that had fallen over him when he heard the rustle of displaced underbrush. He turned, expecting Bedivere or one of his other knights or Mithian, but it was the druid commander, Forridel, who stepped forward. Arthur had met her once before, just briefly. It still wasn’t entirely clear to him how she’d become friends with Merlin. Something illegal, he assumed. Or rather, something previously illegal, back when Uther had been Camelot’s king. She didn’t say anything, just took up a silent post beside him, eyes towards Camelot.

When the silence had gone on for some time Arthur found himself blurting, “I’m starting to have doubts.” Immediately he wanted to kick himself. That was not the sort of thing a leader admitted on the eve of battle.

“There’s no need for doubts,” Forridel said. There was an amused smile on her lips. “Things have gone well so far.”

“They have,” Arthur agreed. “There’s so much that could still go wrong though.”

“True. But we have something more than luck on our side.”

“What?”

“The blessing of the Triple Goddess.”

Arthur didn’t say anything. His initial urge was to laugh off Forridel’s words, but then he remembered the words of the Maiden and thought that maybe there was something to it. Their luck since leaving the north had been unusually good. Arthur hadn’t been of a mind to question it, not when the situation was so dire. But yes, maybe there was something to it, something to do with the Goddess.

“You should get some rest, King Arthur,” Forridel said. “We will need you at your best for the coming battle.” She retreated back towards the camp. Arthur cast one last look at his citadel before following her. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get much sleep, but he should at least try.

-

The eve before the battle Merlin felt sick with nerves. Lot had a lavish feast prepared just for the two of them and dug into it with gusto the moment his plate was filled. Merlin could only pick at his food, nibbling here and there, but unwilling to test whether eating too much would survive the nervous upset of his stomach. He kept thinking of all the ways tomorrow’s battle could go wrong and had to remind himself that this time he wouldn’t be so helpless because his magic had been restored. Lot took note of his poor appetite.

“Eat!” he declared. “I haven’t had all this food prepared for myself!”

“Are you not nervous, my lord?” Merlin asked. Lot scoffed.

“What is there to be nervous about? A few peasant rebellions? A couple of deluded rulers making trouble in the north? It will all soon be taken care of.”

“As you say.” Some of Merlin’s anxiety eased. So far the plan was working well. If their luck held, Lot wouldn’t even suspect the armies of his enemies were so much closer than he thought until they were pouring into the city.

Dinner was finished in relative quiet. Merlin rose from his chair with every intention of retiring to his own private chambers and preparing for tomorrow, but Lot stopped him with a firm, “Wait.” Merlin suppressed the urge to scowl.

“My lord?”

Lot sat back in his chair, a faint smirk curling his lips as he took his time perusing Merlin’s body with his gaze. “I want you to join me tonight.” Merlin cursed angrily in his head. The past week had been a blessing of sorts. Lot, angry with Merlin for his cutting observations and remarks, had banished Merlin from his chambers. Of all the nights for him to decide he wanted Merlin back in his bed, why did he have to choose this one? It was only one night, Merlin reminded himself. Tomorrow they would take back Camelot and he would be reunited with Arthur. He could withstand one more night.

Forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, Merlin said, “Of course, my lord.”

-

Arthur managed a few hours of sleep. He was already awake and ready when the rest of Mithian’s men roused themselves. It wasn’t long before Mithian and Forridel joined him.

“Is everything prepared?” Arthur asked.

“My men are ready,” Mithian said. “They’re getting in position as we speak. I’m sure Elena’s are doing the same.”

“We’re ready as well,” Forridel said. “My healers are already setting up an area to treat the wounded. It will be important to keep that avenue open during the course of the battle.”

“I’ve got a squad of men ready to do that,” Mithian promised. “If we take the lower town as planned then it shouldn’t be a concern.”

They fell silent after that. Any chatter would be pointless, an unnecessary expression of nerves. Forridel was the first to leave, going to ensure that her healers were ready and that the enchantment keeping them invisible to the enemy would hold until they were entering the city. Mithian went next to speak to her commanders and ensure that at least their part of the attack would go as smoothly as possible. Arthur stood as well a moment later, but he didn’t immediately move to join the ranks of men. He looked to Camelot. Failure was not an option, he told himself. If they lost this battle today they may not get another chance.

Dawn approached swiftly. By the time the sky began to lighten Mithian’s army was in place. Arthur stood beside her at the head of the brunt of their attacking force. There were a few other groups scattered around the wall with the intention of spreading Lot’s forces as thinly as possible. Now all they had to do was wait. And wait. The sun crept ever higher and Arthur began to get nervous. Had something happened? Had the men and women who had volunteered to set the explosives been caught? Had the explosives been found? A hand landed on his shoulder. Arthur looked at Mithian. Calm down, her expression said. He nodded. There was no reason to panic yet. A few more minutes passed.

A string of explosions rent the air.

-

Merlin woke just before false dawn and immediately crawled out of bed. He’d hoped to have the previous night to prepare so that he would be ready when Arthur and their allies started the attack from the outside. Quickly he gathered his clothes and slipped out the servant’s entrance, all but running to the royal chambers. When he arrived, he was going through a mental list of all the things he would need for the coming battle, but stopped short just inside the door. George stood to the side of the table where not only had he set out a small breakfast, but he’d also laid out the dragon hide armor Kilgharrah had gifted him with and Excalibur. On the bed were a pair of sturdy trousers and a simple tunic. Merlin smiled.

His breakfast was consumed quickly, though Merlin couldn’t say he was all that hungry. Then he let George help him dress. Back before his marriage to Arthur, not long after the ban on magic had been lifted, Kilgharrah had called Merlin to a valley in the Perilous Lands. Arthur had pitched a bit of a fit about it, reminding Merlin of the wyverns and other undoubtedly dangerous creatures roaming about, and of course he knew Merlin was capable of defending himself, but he would still prefer if Merlin would let him send some knights to accompany him. Merlin had been adamant in his refusal. Kilgharrah hadn’t outright said it, but Merlin had gotten the distinct impression from his manner and tone that this summons was related to Merlin’s heritage as a Dragonlord. With no one but Kilgharrah to teach him, Merlin knew little about his people, but he did know that they’d guarded their practices carefully. Gaius had only been able to shrug whenever Merlin asked him questions, saying that, though he had known Balinor quite well, he’d never spoken much about the Dragonlords’ traditions. With that in mind, he’d doubted that Kilgharrah would appreciate him showing up with an entourage of knights.

The valley, Kilgharrah had told him, was once known as the Vale of Dragons. It had been where the Dragonlord clans had lived. Back then, the Vale was teeming with dragons, making it a dangerous and hostile place, but the Dragonlords had kept their kin in line well enough. Merlin remembered feeling an ache in his chest as he’d traveled through the valley with Kilgharrah, painfully aware that were it not for Uther and the Great Purge this would have been his home. They’d gone to a citadel carved into the side of a mountain, magnificent and awe inspiring. Great stone arches allowed dragons to enter and Kilgharrah had glided through one into a high ceilinged room. In that room, he’d presented Merlin with a gift. Armor made from the hide of a dragon. When a dragon was near the end of its life, whether by age or illness or injury, it was tradition for them to grant permission for their hide to be used in the making of armor. This particular set of armor, according to Kilgharrah, had once belonged to Merlin’s grandfather. Since it was impossible to make Merlin a set of his own, due to the lack of dragons in the land, Kilgharrah had had Aithusa help him dig this up and altered it to fit Merlin. A version of the Pendragon crest had been emblazoned on the chest plate. When Merlin had asked, Kilgharrah had explained that the alterations had been taken from the crest of Merlin’s clan.

It was more than just armor. It was a symbol of Merlin’s birthright, of his heritage, and as he donned it now, feeling its familiar weight settle on him, Merlin felt bolstered by the reminder that he was no mere man. He could command dragons. And command them he would, but only after he and Gwen had enacted the first part of the plan. Merlin nodded his thanks to George as the servant stepped back. He received an almost reverent bow in return.

Gwen was already waiting for him at the entrance to the dungeons. “What took you so long?” she hissed.

“Is this really the time?” Merlin countered. “Or do you think maybe we should get on with taking control of the dungeons?” Dawn had passed not long ago, which meant the attack would start anytime now. It would be better if they could free the knights now, before Lot’s army was on high alert. Gwen gestured for him to get moving then and followed him into the dungeons. Glancing over the railing, Merlin noted that Lot’s guards seemed to find this job as boring as Camelot’s. There were four of them who were supposed to guard the entrance, but they seemed far more interested in their dice game. Taking a deep breath, Merlin called his magic forth, relieved when it came without trouble. It had been finicky the last few days as the land healed and he’d been a bit worried that it would fail him over the course of the battle.

“ _Swefe nu_ ,” Merlin whispered. Almost simultaneously, all four guards slumped at the table. He and Gwen descended quickly and quietly, checking the guards and removing their weapons before moving on. They wove through the dungeons, Gwen keeping an eye out while Merlin cast the sleeping spell on every guard they came across.

“Here,” Gwen whispered as they came to a locked door. “This is it.” They’d found others along the way, courtiers who had displeased Lot in some way or members of the rebellion that had risen up within a week of Lot’s take over and only gotten stronger since rumors of Arthur being alive had started circulating. They would free them on the way out. Their first priority had to be the knights. Merlin peeked through the tiny window in the door. Seven guards. He almost scoffed. Seven guards was nothing. He’d taken down entire armies.

“Hey!”

Merlin whipped around and saw a guard, one they must’ve missed. “I’ve got this!” Gwen said, unsheathing her sword. “Free the knights! Go!” Merlin left her to it. He could hear activity on the other side of the door. He took a step back.

“ _Tospringe_!” The door flew off it’s hinges, taking down the guard who had been on the verge of unlocking it to come see what the commotion was. Immediately, Merlin raised his hand and incanted, “ _Hleap on bæc_!” The remaining six guards were thrown back. None of them got up. A cheer went up from the knights. A moment later Gwen joined him. That was when the warning bell started sounding.

“Just in time,” Gwen commented. Merlin flicked his wrist and unlocked the cell doors. Leon made a beeline for Gwen, taking her in his arms. Merlin found himself engulfed in a hug courtesy of Gwaine.

“Alright, alright!” Merlin said when Gwaine stepped aside and Percival took his place. “There will be time for that later! For now, take what you can from the guards and go with Gwen to the armory.”

“Where will you be going?” Elyan asked.

“To call for a few reinforcements,” Merlin said. “We’ll see how Lot and his men handle dragons.” There were smirks all around the room. Galahad pushed his way to the front of the knights. He looked uncertain and Merlin could see shame lurking in his eyes.

“Your majesty,” Galahad said, inclining his head respectfully. “I know I have failed in my-”

“You have failed in nothing,” Merlin interrupted. He smiled and tilted his head towards the door. “Come on then.” Elyan passed Galahad one of the unconscious guard’s swords and then he followed Merlin out the door.

-

They made it halfway through the lower town before they met Lot’s met. They’d set themselves up behind a barricade stretched across the street. Arthur imagined there were similar ones all across the city. Mithian’s knights charged for the barrier fearlessly. Arthur couldn’t help glancing towards the citadel, wondering if Merlin and Gwen had managed to free the knights before the warning bell put everyone on alert, like they’d planned. Then his attention was focused on the battle at hand.

The barrier was hastily and poorly constructed. It didn’t take long to break through it, surging up the street.

“Fall back!” one of Lot’s men yelled. “Fall back!” The Essetian knights began to retreat.

“If they make it back to the walls of the citadel they’ll have the advantage,” Mithian said.

“They won’t make it that far,” Arthur said. “Just keep pushing forward.” This was another one of those unknown variables, but the people of Camelot had already pulled through for them once. There was no reason to think they wouldn’t a second time.

-

They didn’t need to go high. In fact, higher was worse, as it would take them even more time to get back to the main action. They only needed to get out in the open somewhere that wasn’t the courtyard, which was swarming with Lot’s men as they tried to figure out whether they should be fighting the combined armies systematically making their way through the lower town or the rebellion mounting within the citadel. Merlin remembered when Morgause and Cenred had used this tactic in their own invasion, only instead of angry knights and courtiers who had been imprisoned for months, they’d had undead soldiers from the crypt. In all honesty, Merlin would almost prefer the skeletons, if only because they were undead. He wasn’t much of a fan of necromancy though, especially after the way Morgana had used it on Lancelot.

Merlin crashed through the door leading to the parapet and thrust Excalibur through the first soldier he encountered. Archers were lined up along the wall, momentarily distracted from taking down enemy knights. Taking advantage, Merlin swept his arm out and sent them all tumbling over the edge. Galahad made an impressed noise behind him.

“Keep an eye out,” Merlin ordered.

“Yes, sire.”

Merlin sheathed Excalibur and stepped up to the edge of the parapet, head tilted back to the sky, and roared, “ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes_!” His call echoed in the wide blue void of the sky. He felt powerful. Looking down over the battle raging in the lower town, creeping ever closer, Merlin stretched out his hand, magic surging up and—

It faltered. Merlin let his hand drop. It seemed the bigger spells were still out of his reach, the ones with which he could devastate entire armies. The ley lines needed more time to heal before he would be back to his old strength. As he turned away, Merlin caught a flash of red in the corner of his eyes. Heart pounding in his chest, he scanned the battlefield for Arthur, but couldn’t immediately spot him.

“Your majesty?” Galahad stepped closer, still keeping an eye on their surroundings. Merlin forced himself to turn away. He needed to concern himself with his own part of the battle.

“Let’s go,” Merlin said, leading the way back into the citadel. They’d head towards the armory and likely run into Gwen and the knights on the way. Then they would make their way to the throne room.

-

An ashen faced guard stumbled into the throne room. “Sire,” he said, barely remembering to bow before Lot. “The-the Knights of Camelot, sire. Someone’s released them.” Lot straightened on his stolen throne.

“What? Who? How?” he demanded.

“I thought I saw Lady Guinevere,” the guard reported.

“Lady Guinevere?” Lot repeated incredulously. “Are you telling me a woman is leading this attack?”

The guard hesitated. “Perhaps,” he finally hedged. Then he glanced away.

“Spit it out,” Lot growled. This was not going at all how he’d assumed. A third of his army had been decimated in the north by Queen Annis and Lord Bayard’s combined efforts and then somehow the armies of Nemeth, Gawant, and Cornwall had snuck up on him. Now there was even war within his castle.

“No one knows where Prince Merlin is,” the guard said quietly.

Lot’s blood turned to ice. He’d given little thought to the prince since awakening, beyond the mild irritation that he hadn’t found Merlin still in his bed.

“I’m more inclined to believe the woman is the mastermind,” Sir Sauvage commented, snorting. Lot wasn’t so sure though. How had the enemy gotten ahold of his battle plans? Plans he kept in his private chambers where few people were allowed, all of which he trusted implicitly, save one. Merlin. Lot scowled.

“Any more bad news?” he snapped. His stomach felt like it dropped through the floor when the guard ducked his head guiltily. “What?”

The guard swallowed. “Reports from those fighting out in the city say that...they say that King Arthur leads the attack.”

“Impossible,” Sir Sauvage scoffed. “He died in the north.”

“It-it would seem not, my lord,” the guard said.

Lot refused to admit that what he was feeling was fear. Fear was for the weak and Lot was not weak. “Get out,” he snapped. Sir Sauvage stepped closer to the throne, stopping short of reaching out to place a steadying hand on his king’s shoulder.

“They just got lucky,” he said confidently. “But their luck won’t hold. We will turn the tide of this battle, sire. You’ll see.”

-

Arthur looked up when he heard the sound of wings beating on the air. A moment later his gaze was forced back to the battle and the Essetian knight attacking him. It seemed like ages ago that he’d heard the roar of Merlin’s call echoing over Camelot. Since then they’d taken the lower town and were now making their way towards the gates of the citadel. It was slow going, but as the wingbeats came closer and another roar, this one a wordless battle cry, rang out from the sky Arthur knew their luck was about to change.

A hush fell over the city. Time seemed to slow, then stop entirely. War was temporarily forgotten as the shadow of a great winged beast passed overhead, drawing the awed gaze of soldiers from both sides. The only sound to be heard was the swoosh of leathery wings beating in the air. Even inside the citadel there was a pause. Upon his stolen throne, Lot paled in fear. In the corridor not far away Merlin smirked. The time had come for Lot and his men to suffer the wrath of dragons.

Elena wrenched her gaze away from the skies and tightened her grip on her sword. She tapped the knight nearest to her and gestured to Lot’s soldiers, distracted by fear and unease as another roar ripped through the sky, smaller and lighter but no less terrifying. The knight tapped another and the chain continued until Elena had their silent attention. She didn’t unleash a cry, though it was tempting. She simply raised her arm and brought it down in a clear signal to attack. As one, the Knights of Gawant and the Knights of Cornwall surged forward into the startled soldiers of Essetir. The first line was cut down before they even realized what has happening and the second line were still fumbling with their weapons. The cacophony of metal clashing with metal filled the air once more. Across the city Mithian’s army took their cue and pressed their advantage as well, advancing further towards the citadel.

In the sky, Kilgharrah surveyed the battle raging through Camelot. He elected to avoid the districts leading up to the citadel, seeing them filled with the colors of Nemeth and Gawant and Cornwall. Aithusa, smaller and having a more precise aim, could take care of that area and she did, streaking past the older dragon in a white blur. Kilgharrah continued to the courtyard of the citadel. It was filled with enemy soldiers. Some of them were retreating back inside, though whether it was fear of the dragons or an attempt to bolster their forces against Merlin’s efforts that drove them was unclear. Others were awaiting their turn to join the battle against the allied armies. Still others didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves and waffled about indecisively. Kilgharrah didn’t bother announcing his presence with another roar. He swooped down from the sky and unleashed a blistering blast of fire, then landed with a resonating thump that crushed soldiers beneath him before shooting up into the sky again. Arrows glanced off his scales as the archers turned their crossbows on him. A spell clipped his flank and Kilgharrah turned his attention to the two sorcerers high up in one of Camelot’s towers where they were protected from the bulk of the battle. He was tempted to laugh. Foolish. Didn’t they realize that they’re magic was useless against a creature such as him? Clearly not, but they would learn soon enough.

-

One of the sorcerers was stationed just outside the throne room. He smirked when he saw Camelot’s knights approaching up the corridor and raised his hand, a spell on his lips, but Merlin didn’t give him the chance to cast. With a flick of his wrist, the sorcerer was sent flying, bowling over a few of the Essetian soldiers rushing to stop them, before sliding to a halt on the floor. He didn’t get up. The Essetian soldiers hesitated a bare moment, but bravely continued the charge. Merlin had to grudgingly give them credit for that. Lot may be a coward, but his men were not. Elyan and Percival stepped forward.

“We’ll take care of them,” Elyan said, some of the knights breaking off to join him. “You go on.” Merlin nodded and moved towards the throne room. He paused to gather himself. It all ended here. With a touch of magic he threw the doors open.

Merlin barely caught a glimpse of Lot in his still gleaming armor upon the throne before the enemy surged forward, taking his attention. There were two more sorcerers and Merlin focused on the nearest one first. He wore a chain around his neck that bore some sort of amulet of protection, but it was dulled from the attack on the ley lines and the magic in it hadn’t yet been replenished. It tried to stop him, but Merlin easily pushed past its defense to pull the chain tight against the sorcerer’s neck until he went limp. He held it a moment longer, just to be sure, but it was a moment too long. An arm yanked him out of the way in time to avoid a serious injury. Instead, the enemy blade skirted along his flank where the dragonhide armor protected him. As Galahad dispatched the enemy soldier the rest of the knights formed a ring around him. Merlin let them while he sought out the second sorcerer. He found him just in time to watch the sorcerer drop to the ground dead, a knife still buried in his back from where a young lady of Camelot’s nobility had stabbed it. She stood there a moment, seeming in shock at her actions. Then she took up the sorcerer’s sword and turned to face the nearest soldier. The rest of the courtiers followed her example.

The sudden increase in fighting power on Camelot’s side, albeit from unseasoned courtiers, was enough to turn things in their favor.

“Enough!”

The Essetian soldiers immediately ceased fighting and backed away towards the throne, forming a defensive line. Lot stood, face twisted into a displeased scowl, like a child who’d been denied sweatmeats. Merlin stepped forward into the open.

“Your unlawful reign ends now,” Merlin declared. “Surrender peacefully and I may be inclined to show you mercy.” That was a lie. Lot didn’t deserve mercy, not after everything he’d done.

“As your husband I demand you cease this ridiculousness at once,” Lot said, ignoring him.

Merlin laughed. “My husband? I think not. That wedding was illegal and therefore the marriage holds no legal value. My husband is currently fighting his way through the city to reclaim his kingdom and I have every intention of being seated upon that throne by the time he gets here. So I’ll say it one more time: make this easy on yourself and surrender.”

Lot held his stare before abruptly breaking it off to stubbornly plant himself back on the throne. “You can’t win this.”

“Come down here and prove it,” Merlin challenged. For a moment he thought Lot may actually do it, but he only beckoned forward a knight. Sir Sauvage. That was fine. Sir Sauvage deserved death nearly as much as Lot. Merlin would fight every knight in this room if he had to to get to the man.

Sir Sauvage smirked as he descended from the dais. “Are you certain of this, little prince?” he mocked. “I will not go easy on you.”

There was a time when Merlin’s sword skills had been terrible. He hadn’t seen the point in learning, not when he had magic. But then he’d lost his magic. Temporarily, as it turned out, but he’d lost it. He’d thought that cold, horrible feeling that had frightened his magic into uselessness when the Dorocha roamed free had been bad. It hadn’t even compared to the knowledge that he couldn’t even do something as simple as call a cup of water to him to ease his parched throat, much less defend himself. And so he’d made a point of learning swordcraft. Not from Arthur, but from Leon. Leon had been a far more patient teacher, his methods more suited to Merlin, and he had found himself picking up the basics with ease. It helped, no doubt, that he’d spent years watching countless training sessions and battles, picking up knowledge and tactics simply by repeated exposure.

Now Merlin was a warrior in his own right, not because he could call terrifying magic to wreak havoc, but because he could handle a sword with skill and ease. Excalibur’s hilt felt right in the palm of his hand. He slipped easily into a stance. Across from him Sir Sauvage faltered, uncertainty marring his overconfident expression.

“What are you waiting for?” Merlin taunted. “I took you to be a man of great cruelty, but not one of cowardice. It seems I was wrong.” Sir Sauvage let out a wordless snarl and lunged forward. Merlin effortlessly blocked the first blow. The second nearly slid past his defenses and the near miss sent a spike of adrenaline through his veins.

-

Lot’s men had retreated behind the walls of the citadel, barricading the gates behind them. Arthur caught the glint of crossbows being aimed at them and yelled, “Take cover!” He threw himself behind a building just as the first volley of arrows were released, wincing at pained screams and the thumps of bodies of soldiers who hadn’t been quick enough. Glancing to the side he saw he had Bedivere and Lamorak with him.

“What do we do now?” Lamorak asked. Arthur didn’t answer him immediately. He edged close enough to the mouth of the alley to take in the situation. Across the street he caught Forridel’s eye. Mithian was crouched behind her, tending to the wound of one of her knights. Something nudged Arthur’s elbow and he turned to face another one of the druids.

“Forridel says she can shield the army against the archers,” the druid said.

“How long can she maintain the shield?” Arthur asked.

“As long as it takes,” the druid answered after a pause. There was a pinch to his brow and he kept glancing towards Forridel and Arthur frowned. He had no doubt that Forridel would maintain a shield as long as she could, but if they couldn’t break through before it failed…

“And how exactly do we get through the gates?” Bedivere reminded him. “Are we hiding a battering ram somewhere and I just didn’t notice it?”

“Magic could take care of that,” the druid said. A thump on the roof above startled them. Arthur looked up to see Aithusa perched there, looking down at him expectantly. A plan began to take shape in Arthur’s mind.

“Alright, here’s what we’re doing,” Arthur said. He pointed at the druid. “You and Forridel and the rest of the druids concentrate on maintaining a shield.” He looked up at Aithusa and couldn’t stop a smile. “Hey there, girl. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to blow the gate wide open and take care of those archers for us?”

“Easy,” Aithusa replied. Arthur heard someone behind him startle and drop their sword. Lamorak snorted. Camelot’s knights were used to the dragons. Nemeth’s weren’t. “Would you like me to take care of the sorcerers as well?”

“That would be great. How many are there?”

“Three of them. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Excellent, on my signal then.” Arthur glanced at the druid, who nodded.

“We’re ready,” the druid said. “Princess Mithian is as well.”

“Alright.” Arthur looked up at Aithusa again. “The sorcerers are the biggest threat to us so we’ll need them taken out first, then the gate, then the archers. Ready?” Aithusa nodded. “Go!” Aithusa sprang into the air and made for the wall, roaring to draw attention to herself. Arthur waited until he heard the first woosh of fire being unleashed and frightened screams before giving Forridel and Mithian a signal. Their army poured out onto the main street. Some of the archers turned and fired on them, but the arrows glanced off the shield. Arthur saw a man turn towards them, hands raised as he readied to cast a spell before Aithusa swooped in and dragged him from the wall, darting up into the sky to drop him. Then she made for the gate. It burst open in a shower of sparks, flashes of flame licking at the edges.

Mithian’s army surged forward, spilling into the courtyard. Arthur turned to cut down an opponent and found himself face to face with Elena, her army quickly filling in behind her. Fresh adrenaline pumped through Arthur’s veins. The battle was theirs.

-

Sir Sauvage slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap, face still set in a shocked expression. The metallic clang of his sword on the flagstone was loud in the quiet. Merlin turned his gaze from the pool of blood seeping from the body to Lot. From the corner of his eye he could see the Essetian soldiers take a step back, unnerved. Lot was pale, expression troubled as he looked at what had once been his greatest knight.

“Come down here and fight me on even ground you coward,” Merlin challenged. Lot’s eyes moved to him and Merlin wondered what he looked like to inspire such terror. He knew there was blood on his armor and staining Excalibur, some of it smeared across his cheek. He ached from the fight, but it was a good ache, the ache of victory well earned.

“What are you waiting for?” Lot suddenly shrieked, glancing at his men. “Attack them!” But the soldiers took one look at the Knights of Camelot, at the courtiers standing determined beside them, at the man who led them, and shook their heads.

“We surrender,” one of them said and immediately they all dropped their weapons. Lot’s fear morphed into rage.

“Cowards! Traitors!” he roared.

“It’s over,” Merlin said. “Surrender while you still have the chance.”

“Never!” Lot snarled and lunged from the throne, drawing his sword as he went. Galahad took a step forward, intending to throw himself between them, but Merlin pushed him back with a bit of magic. This was between him and Lot.

Lot swung in a wild horizontal arc that was easy to avoid. His next swing was a vertical slice that Merlin deflected with little effort. There was no finesse to Lot’s movements, just unbridled rage and denial. Merlin was fueled by rage too, but his was a cold, calculating rage that had only ever spelled doom for those who got in his way. He hadn’t wielded it’s likes since the battle at Camlann when he’d gone against Morgana. In a way it was almost refreshing.

Regardless of the lack of skill with which Lot fought, he had an advantage. Merlin was already tired and growing more so as the fight wore on, whereas Lot was fresh. But Excalibur was not Merlin’s only weapon. He managed to create space between them, just enough to be out of the way when his eyes flashed gold and Lot went down, tripping over nothing. Merlin didn’t stop to gloat and he didn’t even consider showing mercy. He wrapped both hands around Excalibur’s hilt and buried it in Lot’s chest.

The throne room was dead silent. Breathing hard, Merlin forced himself to his feet, pulling Excalibur from Lot’s still body. It was done. The eyes of his court upon him, Merlin ascended the steps of the dais. He paused for a moment at the top, considering. Then he deliberately sat on Arthur’s throne. He saw confusion in the faces of those courtiers who were present and wondered if they would misunderstand his actions as a desire for his husband’s throne. But when he looked at his knights, Merlin saw that his meaning was clear to them. Merlin would protect Arthur’s throne until his dying breath. Anyone who wanted to take it for themselves would have to pry Merlin’s cold, dead body from it. Leon stepped forward and bowed low, holding it longer than normal. When he straightened there was the glint of pride and victory in his eyes.

“What now, your majesty?” Leon asked. Merlin glanced around the room. His eyes landed on Lot’s body.

“Take his head,” Merlin said. “Let his men see the undeniable proof that their king is dead.”

-

They were still fighting. Arthur had to give Lot’s men credit. The king himself may be an arrogant coward, but he had good soldiers under his command, loyal men who fought even when they knew the battle was lost. Elena’s and Mithian’s armies flooded the courtyard though, surrounding them. They refused to give up and surrender. Then the doors of the citadel opened and a knight wrapped in a red cloak stepped into the open. With relief, Arthur recognized Gwaine, worn and perhaps thinner than Arthur remembered him, but alive and well. He held something up, displaying it. A head. Lot’s head.

“King Lot is dead!” Gwaine declared, his voice ringing out over the din of battle. Those closest to him ceased fighting and the Essetian men turned to stare with disbelief. When the courtyard had fallen quiet, Gwaine repeated, “King Lot is dead.” He gave the head he was gripping by the hair a little shake, then tossed it. An Essetian knight caught it. A strangled sound escaped him. The knight beside him paled and turned to the rest of the courtyard.

“The-” He had to stop and take a deep, bracing breath. “The king is dead.” For a moment, nobody moved. Then the enemy knights threw their weapons to the ground and surrendered. Gwaine met Arthur’s eyes over the heads of the men, smiled, and nodded. Arthur wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but Gwaine wouldn’t be smiling if everything hadn’t gone according to plan. He looked back at the surrendering knights, frowning.

“Go,” Mithian said. “We’ll see to things out here.” Arthur hesitated a moment longer.

“I’m sure your husband is waiting to greet you inside,” Elena added.

“Right,” Arthur said. “Thank you.” Elena smiled. Mithian merely waved him off, attention already turning to the courtyard.

Gwaine was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Before Arthur could get even one word out, the knight pulled him into a crushing hug, stepping back before Arthur had enough time to recover and return it.

“And here I thought you didn’t care,” Arthur couldn’t help but comment. Gwaine threw his head back and laughed.

“Is it strange if it makes me happy to hear that?” he asked. “There was a time I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the pleasure again.”

Arthur inclined his head in acknowledgement, but his mind was already on to other things. “Merlin?”

Gwaine stepped aside, sweeping an arm out in invitation. “In the throne room.” Arthur didn’t wait to see if Gwaine would follow him or if his other knights had caught up. It almost felt strange to be walking the halls of his citadel again and he relished it. The doors to the throne room were thrown open, granting Arthur a glimpse of the scene inside as he approached. He paused for a moment on the threshold, taking it all in.

There had been a time only a few weeks ago when he’d thought he would never again set foot in his throne room. It wasn’t quite as he remembered it. The bodies of enemies lay in a pile to one side, the bodies of Camelot soldiers to another, and the blood of both painted the floor. But standing to attention were his loyal knights and guards and even a few courtiers, unminding of their dirtied clothes. And on the throne…

On the throne sat Merlin. There was blood smeared across his armor, a bruise coloring his jaw, and he was thinner than Arthur remembered. But he sat tall and proud, every inch the monarch reclaiming his kingdom. His bearing was different, regal, not like the awkward sense of leadership he’d possessed when Arthur had left. Merlin had always been so confident in Arthur’s ability to rule, but when it came to his own sense of leadership he seemed lost. Not now though. Pride swelled in Arthur’s chest.

The distance to the throne felt like miles. Were he not so weary from the long battle Arthur would have run the distance, uncaring of what his people thought. It had been so long since he’d seen his husband and so much had happened. Arthur wanted nothing more than to take Merlin in his arms and never let go. His focus narrowed to the throne. When he reached the stairs of the dais Merlin came down to meet him and they clung to each other.

“I feared I’d never see you again,” Arthur said. To his embarrassment he could feel tears coming to his eyes.

“I feared the same,” Merlin admitted. He immediately followed it with a heartfelt, “I love you.”

“I-” The words stuck in Arthur’s throat. Instead, he pulled back just far enough to kiss Merlin, pouring everything he had into it. A cheer rose up around them and Arthur was reminded that they were in a room full of people. He decided he didn’t care. When they finally broke apart, Arthur took Merlin’s hand and pulled him up the dais. Sitting on his throne again felt almost as monumental as the first time he’d done it during his coronation. In some ways it was more so, because there was the warmth of Merlin’s hand in his own. Arthur looked out over his people. Leon stepped up, bowed before Arthur and Merlin, then turned to face the hall, slowly filling up with people.

“Long live the king!” Leon declared. The chant was taken up immediately, echoing through the cavernous hall.

“Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!”


End file.
